/ 


Library  of 
The  University  of  North  Carolina 


COLLECTION  OF 
XORTH  CAROLINLVXA 


EXDOWEI)  liV 
JOHN  SPRrNT  HlLl 

of  the  Class  of  1889 


Sm 


This  book  must  not 
be  taken  from  the 
Library  building. 


The  Red  Lady 


THE  RED 

LADY 


By  Katharine  Newlin  Burt 


BOSTON       AND       NEW     YORK  — 1920 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPTRIOHT,   I9M,  BY   KATHARINE  NEWLIN   BURT 
ALL   RIOHTS   RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

I.  How  I  Came  to  the  Pines  1 

II.  Something  in  the  House  13 

III.  Mary  21 

IV.  Paul  Dabney  25 
V.  "Not  in  the  Daytime,  Ma'am"  34 

VI.  A  Strand  of  Red-Gold  Hair  48 

VII.  The  Russian  Book-Shelves  59 

VIII.  A  Dangerous  Game  79 

IX.  Maida  88 

X.  The  Swamp  109 

XI.  The  Spider  121 

XII.  Not  Reg'lar  126 

XIII.  The  Spider  Bite^  142 

XIV.  My  First  Move  163 
XV.  The  Secret  of  the  Kitchen  Clobbt          172 

XVI.  The  Witch  of  the  Wall  198 

XVII.  The  Second  Candle  207 

XVIII.  The  Last  Victim  225 

XIX.  Skane's  Cleverest  Man  231 


THE  RED  LADY 

CHAPTER  I 

HOW  I  CAME  TO  THE  PINES 

IT  is  the  discomfort  of  the  thing  which  comes 
back  upon  me,  I  beheve,  most  forcibly.  Of 
course  it  was  horrible,  too,  emphatically  horri- 
ble, but  the  prolonged,  sustained,  baffling  dis- 
comfort of  my  position  is  what  has  left  the 
mark.  The  growing  suspicion,  the  uncanny 
circumstances,  my  long  knowledge  of  that 
presence:  it  is  all  extraordinary,  not  least,  the 
part  I  somehow  managed  to  play. 

I  was  housekeeper  at  the  time  for  little  Mrs. 
Brane.  How  I  had  come  to  be  her  housekeeper 
might  have  served  to  forewarn  me,  if  I  had  had 
the  clue.  None  but  an  inexperienced,  desperate 
girl  would  have  taken  the  position  after  the 
fashion  in  which  I  was  urged  to  take  it.  I  re- 
member the  raw,  colorless  day,  and  how  it 
made  me  shiver  to  face  its  bitter  grayness  as 
I  came  out  of  the  dismal  New  York  boarding- 
house  to  begin  my  dreary,  mortifying  search 


2  The  Red  Lady 

for  work.  I  remember  the  hollowness  of  purse 
and  stomach,  and  the  dullness  of  head.  I  even 
remember  wondering  that  hair  like  mine,  so 
conspicuously  golden-red,  could  possibly  keep 
its  flame  under  such  conditions.  And  halfway 
down  the  block,  how  very  well  I  remember  the 
decent-looking,  black-clad  woman  who  touched 
my  arm,  looked  me  hard  in  the  face,  and  said, 
"A  message  for  you,  madam." 

She  got  away  so  quickly  that  I  had  n't 
opened  the  blank  envelope  before  she  was 
round  the  corner  and  out  of  sight. 

The  envelope  contained  a  slip  of  white  pa- 
per on  which  was  neatly  printed  in  pen  and 
ink:  "Excellent  position  vacant  at  The  Pines, 
Pine  Cone,  N.C.  Mrs.  Theodore  Brane  wants 
housekeeper.  Apply  at  once." 

This  was  not  signed  at  all.  I  thought:  "Some 
one  is  thinking  kindly  of  me,  after  all.  Some  old- 
time  friend  of  my  father's,  perhaps,  has  sent  a 
servant  to  me  with  this  message."  I  returned 
to  my  third-story  back  hall-bedroom  and  wrote 
at  once,  offering  my  services  and  sending  my 
references  to  Mrs.  Brane.  Two  days  later,  dur- 
ing which  my  other  efforts  to  find  a  position 
entirely  failed,  there  came  a  letter  on  good  note- 
paper  in  a  light,  sloping  hand. 


The  Red  Lady  3 

The  Pines 
My  dear  Miss  Gale: 

I  shall  be  delighted  to  try  you  as  house- 
keeper. I  think  you  will  find  the  place  satis- 
factory. It  is  a  small  household,  and  your 
duties  will  be  light,  though  I  am  very  much  out 
of  health  and  must  necessarily  leave  every  de- 
tail of  management  to  you.  I  want  you  to  take 
your  meals  with  me.  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  com- 
panionship. The  salary  is  forty  dollars  a  month. 
Sincerely  yours 

Edna  Worthington  Brane 

And  to  my  delight  she  enclosed  the  first  month's 
salary  in  advance.  I  wonder  if  many  such  checks 
are  blistered  with  tears.  Mine  was,  when  I 
cashed  it  at  the  bank  at  the  corner,  where  my 
landlady,  suddenly  gracious,  made  me  known. 
Three  days  later,  I  was  on  my  way  to  "The 
mes. 

The  country,  more  and  more  flat  and  sandy, 
with  stunted  pines  and  negro  huts,  with  shabby 
patches  of  corn  and  potatoes,  was  sad  under 
a  low,  moist  sky,  but  my  heart  was  high  with 
a  sense  of  adventure  at  all  times  strong  in 
me,  iand  I  read  promise  between  the  lines  of 
Mrs.  Brane's  kind  little  note. 


4  The  Red  Lady 

I  slept  well  in  my  berth  that  night  and  the 
next  afternoon  came  safely  to  Pine  Cone.  My 
only  experience  had  been  the  rather  annoying, 
covert  attention  of  a  man  on  the  train.  He  was 
a  pleasant-enough  looking  fellow  and,  though 
he  tried  to  conceal  his  scrutiny,  it  was  disagree- 
ably incessant.  I  was  glad  to  leave  him  on  the 
train,  and  I  saw  his  face  peering  out  of  the 
window  at  me  and  caught  a  curious  expression 
when  I  climbed  into  the  cart  that  had  been 
sent  to  meet  me  from  "The  Pines."  It  was  a 
look  of  intense  excitement,  and,  it  seemed  to 
me,  almost  of  alarm.  Also,  his  fingers  drew  a 
note-book  from  his  pocket  and  he  fell  to  writ- 
ing in  it  as  the  train  went  out.  I  could  not  help 
the  ridiculous  fancy  that  he  was  taking  notes 
on  me. 

I  had  never  been  in  the  South  before,  and 
the  country  impressed  me  as  being  the  most 
desolate  I  had  ever  seen.  Our  road  took  us 
straight  across  the  level  fields  towards  a  low, 
cloudlike  bank  of  pines.  We  passed  through  a 
small  town  blighted  by  poverty  and  dark  with 
negro  faces  which  had  none  of  the  gayety  I 
associated  with  their  race.  These  men  and  wo- 
men greeted  us,  to  be  sure,  but  in  rather  a 
gloomy  fashion,  not  without  grace  and  even 


The  Red  Lady  5 

a  certain  stateliness.  The  few  whites  looked 
poorer  than  the  blacks  or  were  less  able  to  con- 
ceal their  poverty. 

My  driver  was  a  grizzled  negro,  friendly, 
but,  I  soon  found,  very  deaf.  He  was  eager  to 
talk,  but  so  often  misinterpreted  my  shouted 
questions  that  I  gave  it  up.  I  learned,  at  least, 
that  we  had  an  eight-mile  drive  before  us ;  that 
there  was  a  swamp  beyond  the  pine  woods; 
that  the  climate  was  horribly  unhealthy  in 
summer  so  that  most  of  the  gentry  deserted, 
but  that  Mrs.  Brane  always  stayed,  though 
she  sent  her  little  boy  away. 

"LiT  Massa  Robbie,  he's  jes'  got  back. 
Sho'ly  we-all  's  glad  to  see  him  too.  Jes'  makes 
world  of  diffunce  to  hev  a  child  about." 

I,  too,  was  glad  of  the  child's  presence.  A 
merry  little  lad  is  good  company,  and  can 
easily  be  won  by  a  housekeeper  with  the  pan- 
try keys  in  her  hand. 

"Mrs.  Brane  is  an  invalid?"  was  one  of  my 
questions,  I  remember,  to  which  I  had  the  curi- 
ous answer,  "Oh,  no,  missy,  not  to  say  timid, 
not  timorous.  It 's  jes'  her  way,  don'  mean 
nothin'.  She's  a  right  peart  little  lady.  No, 
missy,  don'  get  notions  into  yo'  haid.  We  ain't 
none  of  us  timid;  no,  indeed." 


6  The  Red  Lady 

And  he  gave  his  head  a  vaHant  roll  and 
clipped  his  fat  gray  horse  with  a  great  show 
of  valor.  Evidently  he  had  mistaken  my  word 
"invalid,"  for  "timid,"  but  the  speech  was 
queer,  and  gave  me  food  for  thought. 

We  had  come  to  an  end  of  our  talk  by  the 
time  we  reached  the  low  ridge  of  pines,  and  we 
plodded  through  the  heavy  sand  into  the  gloom, 
out  of  it,  and  down  into  the  sudden  dampness 
of  the  swamp,  in  silence.  This  was  strange 
country;  a  smothered  sort  of  stream  under 
high,  steep  banks  went  coiling  about  under 
twisted,  sprawling  trees,  all  draped  with  dead- 
looking  gray  moss.  Everything  was  gray:  sky, 
road,  trees,  earth,  water.  The  air  was  gray  and 
heavy.  I  tried  not  to  breathe  it,  and  was  glad 
when  we  came  out  and  up  again  to  our  open 
sandy  stretches.  There  was  a  further  rise  and 
more  trees;  a  gate,  an  ill-weeded  drive,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  we  stopped  before  a  big  square 
white  house.  It  had  six  long  columns  from  roof 
to  ground,  intersected  at  the  second  story  by 
a  balcony  floor.  The  windows  were  large,  the 
ceilings  evidently  very  high.  In  fact,  it  was  the 
typical  Southern  house,  of  which  I  had  seen 
pictures,  stately  and  not  unbeautiful,  though 
this  house  looked  in  need  of  care. 


The  Red  Lady  7 

I  felt  very  nervous  as  I  stepped  across  the 
porch  and  pulled  the  bell.  My  hands  were  cold, 
and  my  throat  dry.  But,  no  sooner  was  the 
door  opened,  than  I  found  myself  all  but  em- 
braced by  a  tiny,  pale,  dark  woman  in  black, 
who  came  running  out  into  the  high,  cold  hall, 
took  me  by  both  hands,  and  spoke  in  the  sweet- 
est voice  I  had  ever  heard. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Gale,  indeed  I  'm  glad  to  see  you. 
Come  in  now  and  have  tea  with  me.  My  little 
boy  and  I  have  been  waiting  for  you,  all  im- 
patience" since  three  o'clock.  George  must  just 
have  humored  the  old  horse.  They're  both  so 
old  that  they  spoil  each  other,  out  of  fellow- 
feeling,  I  reckon." 

She  went  before  me  through  a  double  door- 
way, trailing  her  scarf  behind  her,  and  I  came 
into  a  pleasant,  old-fashioned  room,  crowded 
with  fussy  little  ornaments  and  large  furni- 
ture. 

It  was  thickly  carpeted,  and  darkly  papered, 
but  was  lit  to  warmth  by  a  bright  open  fire 
of  coals.  The  glow  was  caught  high  up  by  a 
hanging  chandelier  with  long  crystal  pendants, 
and  under  this  stood  a  little  boy.  My  heart 
tightened  at  sight  of  him,  he  looked  so  small 
and  delicate. 


8  The  Red  Lady 

"Here  is  our  new  friend,  Robbie,"  said  Mrs. 
Brane.  "Come  and  shake  hands." 

I  took  the  clammy  Httle  hand  and  kissed  the 
sallow  little  face.  The  child  looked  up.  Such  a 
glare  of  speechless,  sudden  terror  I  have  never 
seen  in  the  eyes  of  any  child.  I  hope  I  shall 
never  see  it  again.  I  stepped  back,  half  affaid, 
and  hurt,  for  I  love  children,  and  children  love 
me,  and  this  little,  sickly  thing  I  longed  to  take 
close  to  my  heart. 

"Why,  Robbie! "  said  Mrs.  Brane,  "Robbie, 
dear !  He 's  very  timid.  Miss  Gale,  you  '11  have 
to  excuse  him." 

She  had  not  seen  the  look,  only  the  shrink- 
ing gesture.  He  was  much  worse  than  "timid." 
But  I  was  really  too  overwhelmed  to  speak.  I 
turned  away,  tears  in  my  silly  eyes,  and  took 
off  my  hat  and  coat  in  silence,  tucking  in  a 
stray  end  of  hair.  The  child  had  got  into  his 
mother's  lap,  and  was  clinging  to  her,  while 
she  laughed  and  coaxed  him.  Under  her  en- 
couragements he  ventured  to  look  up,  then 
threw  himself  back,  stiffened  and  shrieked, 
pointing  at  me,  "It's  her  hair!  It's  her  hair! 
See  her  hair!" 

For  a  few  moments  his  mother  was  fairly 
unnerved,   then   she   began   to   laugh  again, 


The  Red  Lady  9 

looked  apologetically  at  me,  and,  rocking  the 
poor,  frightened  baby  in  her  arms,  "Oh,  Miss 
Gale,"  she  said  sweetly,  "we're  not  used  to 
such  splendor  in  our  old  house.  Come,  Robbie 
dear,  all  women  are  not  as  little  and  black  and 
dreary  as  your  poor  mamma.  I  '11  let  him  creep 
off  into  a  corner.  Miss  Gale,  while  we  have  tea, 
then  he  '11  get  used  to  your  prettiness  and  that 
wonderful  hair  from  a  distance." 

As  I  came  up,  the  child  fled  from  me  and 
crouched  in  a  far  corner  of  the  room,  from 
which  his  little  white  face  glimmered  fear- 

fully. 

Mrs.  Brane  poured  tea,  and  chattered  in- 
cessantly. It  was  evident  that  she  had  suffered 
greatly  from  loneliness.  Her  eyes  show^ed  that 
she  had  lived  too  long  in  memories.  I  felt  a 
warm  desire  to  cheer  and  to  protect  her.  She 
was  so  small  and  helpless-looking. 

"Since  my  husband  died,"  she  said,  "I 
really  have  n't  had  the  courage  to  go  away. 
It 's  difficult  to  pull  up  roots,  and,  then,  there 
are  the  old  servants  who  depend  so  absolutely 
upon  me.  If  I  moved  away  it  would  simply  be 
to  explode  their  whole  existence.  And  I  can't 
quite  afford  to  pension  them."  Here  she  paused 
and  added  absently,  "At  least,  not  yet." 


10  The  Red  Lady 

I  wondered  if  she  had  expectations  of  wealth. 
Her  phrase  suggested  it. 

"By  the  by,"  she  went  on,  "you  must  meet 
Deha,  and  Jane  and  Annie.  They  are  your 
business  from  now  on.  DeHa  's  the  cook,  while 
Annie  and  Jane  do  all  the  other  work.  I  '11  tell 
you  about  them  so  you'll  be  able  to  under- 
stand their  crotchets.  They're  really  old  dears, 
and  as  loyal  as  loyalty  itself.  Sometimes,"  — 
she  laughed  a  hollow  little  laugh  that  sounded 
as  if  it  had  faded  from  long  disuse,  —  "I  won- 
der how  on  earth  I  could  get  rid  of  them." 

She  gave  me  a  humorous  account  of  the 
three  old  women  who  did  the  indoors  work  at 
"The  Pines."  She  had  hardly  finished  when 
Jane  came  in.  This  was  the  fat,  little  one; 
wrinkled,  with  gray  curls;  a  pursed-up  face, 
little,  bright,  anxious  eyes.  Again  I  was  struck 
by  the  furtive,  frightened  air  every  one  at 
"The  Pines"  wore,  except  George,  the  colored 
coachman,  with  his  bravado. 

Jane  was  introduced  to  me,  and  gave  me 
rather  a  gloomy  greeting.  Nevertheless,  I 
thought  that  she,  too,  after  her  own  fashion, 
was  glad  to  see  me. 

"You  don't  keep  colored  servants  for  in- 
doors, do  you,  Mrs.  Brane?  "  I  asked,  when  Jane 


The  Red  Lady  11 

had  taken  away  the  tea-things  and  we  were  on 
our  way  upstairs. 

''Oh,  mercy,  no!  Of  all  wretched,  supersti- 
tious, timid  creatures,  negro  women  are  the 
most  miserable.  I  would  n't  have  one  in  the 
house  with  me  over  a  single  night.  This  is  your 
room.  Miss  Gale.  It  is  in  the  old  part  of  the 
house,  what  we  call  the  northern  wing.  Oppo- 
site you,  along  the  passageway,  is  Robbie's  nur- 
sery, which  my  husband  used  in  the  old  days 
as  a  sort  of  study.  This  end  of  the  house  has 
the  deep  windows.  You  won't  see  those  win- 
dow sills  anywhere  else  at  'The  Pines.'  My 
husband  discovered  the  reason.  There 's  a  dou- 
ble wall  at  this  end  of  the  house.  I  think  the 
old  northern  wall  was  burnt  or  torn  down,  or 
out  of  repair,  and  a  former  owner  just  clapped 
on  another  wall  over  it;  or,  perhaps,  he  thpught 
it  would  make  this  end  of  the  house  warmer 
and  more  weatherproof.  It's  the  quarter  our 
storms  come  from.  \Miatever  the  reason,  it 
makes  these  end  rooms  very  pretty,  I  think. 
There's  nothing  like  a  deep  window,  is  there? 
I  hope  you  will  like  your  room." 

I  was  sure  that  I  should.  It  was  really  very 
fresh  and  pretty,  seemed  to  have  been  done 
over  recently,  for  the  paper,  the  matting,  the 


12  The  Red  Lady 

coat  of  white  paint  on  the  woodwork,  the  mus- 
Hn  curtains,  were  all  spick  and  span.  After 
Mrs.  Brane  had  left  me,  I  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  out.  I  had  a  charming  view  of  the 
old  garden,  still  gay  with  late  fall  flowers,  and 
with  roses  which  bloomed  here,  probably  all 
winter  long.  A  splendid  magnolia  tree  all  but 
brushed  the  window  with  its  branches.  Just 
below  stood  a  pretty  arbor  covered  with  rose- 
vines  and  honeysuckle.  I  drew  in  a  deep  breath 
of  the  soft,  fragrant  air.  I  was  very  happy,  that 
night,  very  grateful  for  the  '*  state  of  life  to 
which  Heaven  had  called  me." 


D 


CHAPTER  II 

SOMETfflNG  IN  THE  HOUSE 

OWNSTAIRS,the  little  room  that  opened 
from  the  drawing-room  was  given  to  me 
by  Mrs.  Brane  for  my  "office."  Here  every 
morning  Jane,  Annie,  and  Delia  came  to  me 
for  orders. 

It  was  a  fortnight  after  my  arrival,  every- 
thing having  run  smoothly  and  uneventfully, 
when,  earlier  than  usual,  there  came  footsteps 
and  a  rap  on  the  door  of  this  room.  My  "  Come 
in"  served  to  admit  all  three  old  women,  tread- 
ing upon  one  another's  heels.  So  odd  and  so 
ridiculous  was  their  appearance  that  I  had 
some  ado  to  keep  my  laughter  in  my  throat. 

"Why,"  said  I,  "what  on  earth's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

Jane's  little,  round,  crumpled  face  puckered 
and  blinked;  Annie's  stolid,  square  person  was 
just  a  symbol  of  obstinate  fear;  Delia,  long, 
lean,  and  stooping,  with  her  knotted  hand  fin- 
gering her  loose  mouth,  shuffled  up  to  me. 

"We're  givin'  notice,  ma'am,"  she  whined. 

Astonishment  sent  me  back  into  my  chair. 


14  The  Red  Lady 

"Delia!" 

Delia  wavered  physically,  and  her  whitish- 
blue  eyes  watered,  but  the  spirit  of  fear  pos- 
sessed her  utterly. 

"I  can't  help  it,  ma'am,  I've  been  in  this 
house  me  last  night." 

"But  it's  impossible!  Leave  Mrs.  Brane  like 
this,  with  no  notice,  no  time  to  get  any  one 
else.^  Why,  only  the  other  day  she  was  saying, 
'I  don't  see  how  I  could  get  rid  of  them  even 
if  I  wanted  to.'" 

I  meant  this  to  sting,  and  I  succeeded.  All 
three  queer,  old  faces  flushed. 

Delia  muttered,  "Well,  she's  found  the  way, 
that's  all." 

"What  has  happened.^"  I  demanded.  "Is 
it  because  of  me  .^  " 

"No'm,"  the  answer  came  promptly. 
"You're  the  best  manager  we've  had  here  yet, 
an'  you're  a  kind  young  lady."  This  compli- 
ment came  from  Delia,  the  most  affable  of  the 
three.  "But,  the  fact  is  — " 

A  pause,  and  the  fright  they  must  have  had 
to  bring  them  all  pale  and  gasping  and  in- 
articulate, like  fish  driven  from  the  dim  world 
of  their  accustomed  lives,  communicated  itself 
in  some  measure  to  me. 


The  Red  Lady  15 

"Yes?"  I  asked  a  little  uncertainly. 

Then  Annie,  the  stolid,  came  out  with  it. 

"There's  somethin'  in  the  house." 

At  the  words  all  three  of  them  drew  together. 

"We've  been  suspectin'  of  it  for  a  long  time. 
Them  housekeepers  did  n't  leave  a  good  place 
an'  a  kind  mistress  so  quick  for  nothin'."  De- 
lia had  taken  up  the  tale.  "But  we  kinder  mis- 
trusted like  that  it  vv^as  foolishness  of  some 
kind.  But,  miss,  well  —  it  ain't." 

I  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  at  them,  and 
feeling,  I  confess,  rather  blank. 

"What  is  it,  then.f^"  I  asked  sharply. 

"It's  somethin',"  Jane  wobbled  into  the 
talk. 

"Or  somebodv,"  contributed  Annie. 

I  rapped  my  desk.  "Something  or  somebody 
doing  what.f^  Doing  it  where?" 

"All  over  the  house,  miss.  But  especially 
in  the  old  part  where  us  servants  live.  That 's 
where  it  happened  to  them  housekeepers  in 
the  day  time,  an'  that 's  where  it  happened  to 
us  last  night." 

"Well,  now,  let's  have  it!"  said  I  impa- 
tiently. "What  happened  to  you  last  night?" 

"  Delia  was  in  the  kitchen  makin'  bread  late 
last  night,"  said  Annie. 


16  The  Red  Lady 

''Oh,  let  Delia  tell  it  herself,"  I  insisted. 

"But,  ma'am,  it  happened  first  off  to  me.  I 
was  a-goin'  down  to  help  her.  She  was  so  late 
an'  her  with  a  headache.  So  I  put  on  me  wrap- 
per, an'  come  down  the  passage  towards  the 
head  o'  the  back  stairs.  Just  as  I  come  to 
the  turn,  ma'am,  in  the  dark  —  I  'm  so  well 
used  to  the  way  that  I  did  n't  even  light  a  can- 
dle—  somebody  went  by  me  like  a  draught 
of  cold  air,  an'  my  hair  riz  right  up  on  me 
head!" 

"In  other  words,  a  draught  of  cold  air  struck 
you,  eh?''  I  said  scornfully. 

"No,  ma'am,  there  was  steps  to  it,  rayther 
slow,  light  steps  that  was  n't  quite  so  clost  to 
me  as  the  draught  of  air." 

I  could  make  nothing  of  this. 

Delia  broke  in. 

"She  come  into  the  kitchen,  white  as  flour 
she  was,  an'  we  went  up  to  bed  together.  But 
scarce  was  we  in  bed  when  in  come  Jane,  a- 
shakin'  so  that  the  candle-grease  spattered  all 
over  the  floor  —  you  can  see  it  for  yourself  this 
day  — " 

"And  what  had  happened  to  Jane.^"  I  asked 
with  a  sneer. 

"I  was  a-layin'  in  bed,  miss,  in  the  dark,  a 


The  Red  Lady  17 

bit  wakeful,  an'  I  heard,  jes'  back  of  me  in  the 
wall,  somebody  give  a  great  sigh." 

I  threw  back  my  head,  laughing.  '*  You  silly 
women!  Is  this  all.f^  Now,  you  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  a  draught  of  cold  air,  some  falling 
plaster  or  a  rat  in  the  wall,  are  going  to  drive 
you  away,  in  your  old  age,  from  a  good  home 
out  into  the  world  .^  " 

"  Wait  a  moment, miss,"  cried  Delia ; "  there 's 
somethin'  else." 

I  waited.  This  something  else  seemed  diffi- 
cult to  tell. 

"You  go  ahead,"  breathed  Delia  at  last, 
nudging  Annie,  who  gulped  and  set  off  with 
unusual  rapidity. 

"Robbie  was  sick  last  night,  towards  morn- 
in'.  He  had  the  night  terrors,  Mary  said" 
(Mary  was  Robbie's  nurse  of  whom  at  that 
time  I  had  seen  little),  "an'  she  could  n't  get 
him  quiet.  He  kep'  a-talkin'  about  a  lady  with 
red  hair"  —  they  looked  at  me  out  of  the  cor- 
ners of  their  eyes,  and  I  felt  my  face  grow  hot 
—  "a  lady  that  stood  over  him  —  well !  there 's 
no  tellin'  the  fancies  of  a  nervous  child  like 
him!  Anyways,  Mary  was  after  a  hot-water 
bottle,  an'  we,  bein'  wakeful  an'  jumpy-like, 
was  after  helpin'  her.  Delia  an'  me,  we  went 


18  The  Red  Lady 

for  a  cup  of  hot  milk,  an'  me  an'  Mary  come 
upstairs  from  the  kitchen  again  together  an' 
went  towards  the  nursery.  Now,  miss,"  — 
again  they  cuddled  up  to  one  another,  and 
Annie's  throat  gave  a  queer  sort  of  click,  — 
"jes'  as  we  come  to  the  turn  of  the  passage, 
we  seen  somethin'  come  out  o'  the  nursery, 
quick  an'  quiet,  an'  jump  away  down  the  hall 
an'  out  o'  sight.  Delia  an'  me,  bein'  scairt  al- 
ready, run  away  to  our  own  room,  but  Mary 
she  made  fer  the  nursery  as  quick  as  she  could, 
an'  there  she  found  Robbie  all  but  in  fits,  so 
scairt  he  could  n't  scream,  doublin'  an'  twist- 
in',  an'  roUin'  his  eyes.  But  when  she  got  him 
calmed  down  at  last,  why,  it  was  the  same 
story  —  a  lady  with  red  hair  that  come  an' 
stood  over  him,  an'  stuck  her  face  down  closter 
an'  closter  —  jes'  a  reg'lar  nightmare  —  but  we 
all  three  seen  the  thing  come  boundin'  out  o' 
his  room." 

"Why  isn't  Mary  here  to  give  notice?"  I 
asked  after  a  few  moments.  During  that  time 
I  conquered,  first,  a  certain  feeling  of  fear, 
caused  less  by  the  story  than  by  the  look  in 
Delia's  light  eyes,  and,  second,  a  very  strong 
sensation  of  anger.  I  could  not  help  feeling 
that  they  enjoyed  that  endless  repetition  of 


The  Red  Lady  19 

the  "lady  with  red  hair."  Did  the  silly  crea- 
tures suspect  me  of  playing  ghoulish  tricks 
to  terrify  a  child? 

"Well,  Mary,  she  looks  rather  peaky  this 
mornin',"  said  Annie,  "but  she's  young  an' 
venturesome,  an'  she  says  mebbe  we  jes'  fan- 
cied the  thing  comin'  out  o'  the  nursery,  an', 
anyways,  she 's  the  kind  that  would  n't  leave 
her  charge.  She 's  that  fond  of  Robbie." 

"I  think  I  like  this  Mary,"  said  I.  Then, 
looking  them  over  as  scornfully  as  I  could,  I 
went  on  coldly:  "  Very  well,  I '11  take  your  story 
to  Mrs.  Brane.  I  will  tell  her  that  you  want  to 
leave  at  once.  No,  don't  waste  any  more  time. 
Do  your  work,  and  be  prepared  to  pack  your 
trunks.  I  think  Mrs.  Brane  may  be  glad  to  have 
you  go." 

But  I  was  really  very  much  surprised  to  find 
that  I  was  right  in  this.  Mrs.  Brane  almost 
eagerly  consented,  and  even  seemed  to  feel 
relief. 

"By  all  means  pack  them  off  as  soon  as  you 
can.  I  shall  advertise  for  a  man  and  wife  to 
take  their  places.  It  will  mean  some  pretty 
hard  work  for  Mary  and  you  for  a  short  time, 
I  am  afraid,  as  I  simply  will  not  have  any  of 
these  blacks  in  the  house.  But  — " 


£0  The  Red  Lady 

I  did  n't  in  the  least  mind  hard  work,  and  I 
told  her  so  and  hastened  to  give  the  result  of 
my  interview,  first  to  Annie,  Delia,  and  Jane, 
who,  to  my  satisfaction,  seemed  quite  as  much 
dashed  as  relieved  at  the  readiness  with  which 
their  mistress  let  them  go,  and,  second,  to 
Mary,  the  nurse. 


CHAPTER  III 

MARY 

I  FOUND  Mary,  with  Robbie,  in  the  gar- 
den. She  got  up  from  her  rustic  chair  under 
a  big  magnoHa  tree,  and  came  hurrying  to 
meet  me,  more  to  keep  me  from  her  charge,  I 
thought,  than  to  shorten  my  walk. 

She  need  not  have  distressed  herself.  I  felt 
keenly  enough  Robbie's  daytime  fear  of  me, 
but  that  I  should  inspire  horrible  dreams  of 
red-haired  women  bending  over  his  bed  at 
night,  filled  me  with  a  real  terror  of  the  child. 
I  would  not,  for  anything,  have  come  near 
to  him. 

I  stopped  and  waited  for  Mary. 

She  looked  as  fresh  and  sturdy  as  some 
hardy  blooming  plant,  nothing  "peaky"  about 
her  that  I  could  see :  short  and  trim  with  round, 
loyal  eyes,  round,  ruddy  face,  a  pugnacious 
nose,  and  a  bull-dog's  jaw  —  not  pretty,  cer- 
tainly, but  as  trusty  and  delightful  to  look  at 
as  health,  and  honesty,  and  cleanliness  could 
make  her.  I  rejoiced  in  her  that  morning,  and 
I  have  rejoiced  in  her  ever  since,  even  during 


m  The  Red  Lady 

that  worst  time  when  her  trust  in  me  wavered 
a  Kttle,  a  very  Httle. 

"Mary,"  I  said,  "can  you  give  me  five 
minutes  or  so?  I  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to 
you." 

She  glanced  back  at  Robbie.  He  was  busy, 
playing  with  some  sticks  on  the  gravel  path. 

"  Yes,  miss.  Certainly."  And  I  had  her  quiet, 
complete  attention. 

"You  aren't  frightened  out  of  your  senses, 
then,  this  morning?  "  I  asked. 

She  did  not  smile  back  at  me,  but  she  shook 
her  head.  "No,  Miss  Gale,"  she  said  sturdily, 
"though  I  did  see  thet  thing  come  out  of  the 
nursery  plain  enough.  But  it  might  have  been 
Mrs.  Brane's  Angora  cat.  Times  like  that  when 
one  is  a  bit  upset,  why,  things  can  look  twice 
as  big  as  they  really  are,  and,  as  for  Robbie's 
nightmare,  why,  as  I  make  it  out,  it  means  just 
nothing  but  that  some  time,  when  he  was  a 
mere  infant  maybe,  some  red-haired  woman 
give  him  a  great  scare.  He's  a  terrible  nervous 
little  fellow,  anyways,  and  terrible  secret  in 
his  ways.  At  first,  I  couldn't  take  to  him, 
somehow,  he  was  so  queer.  But  now  —  why," 
—  and  here  she  did  smile  with  an  honest  radi- 
ance,—  "it  would  take  more'n  a  ghost  to 


The  Red  Lady  23 

scare  me  away  from  takin'  care  of  him.  And  a 
scared  ghost,  at  that." 

*'Did  you  know  that  DeHa  and  Annie  and 
Jane  are  all  leaving  us  to-day.^" 

Mary  put  up  her  hands  and  opened  her  blue 
eyes.  "My  Lor'!  The  poor,  silly  fools!  Excuse 
me,  Miss  Gale,  but  I  never  did  see  such  a  place 
for  cowards.  Them  housekeepers  and  their 
nerves!" 

"Housekeepers,  Mary?  " 

"Yes'm.  We've  had  three  this  summer. 
They  was  as  lonely  and  jumpy  women  as  ever 
I  saw.  The  first,  she  could  n't  sleep  for  hearin' 
footsteps  above  her  head,  and  the  second,  she 
felt  somebody  pass  her  in  the  hallway,  and  the 
third,  she  would  n't  say  what  the  matter  was, 
but  she  was  the  most  frightened  of  all.  You 
promise  to  be  a  young  lady  with  more  grit.  I  'm 
glad  of  it,  for  I  do  think  a  delicate  lady  like 
Mrs.  Brane  had  ought  to  have  some  peace  and 
quiet  in  her  house.  Now,  miss,  I'll  do  anything 
to  help  you  till  you  can  find  some  one  to  take 
those  women's  places.  I  can  cook  pretty  good, 
and  I  can  do  the  laundry,  too,  and  not  neglect 
my  Robbie,  neither." 

I  dismissed  the  thought  of  the  three  house- 
keepers. 


24  The  Red  Lady 

"Oh,  Mary,  thank  you!  You  are  just  splen- 
did! Mrs.  Brane  says  she  is  going  to  get  a  man 
and  wife." 

"Now,  that 's  good.  That's  what  we  need  — 
a  man,"  said  Mary.  She  was  emphatically  an 
old-fashioned  woman,  that  is,  a  woman  com- 
pletely capable  of  any  sort  of  heroism,  but  who 
never  feels  safe  unless  there  is  a  man  in  the 
house.  "Those  black  men,  I  think,  are  worse 'n 
ghosts  about  a  place.  Not  that  they  come  in 
often,  but  one  of  the  housekeepers  was  askin* 
that  George  be  allowed  to  sleep  inside.  I  was 
against  it  myself.  Now,  you  depend  upon  me, 


miss." 


I  was  almost  absurdly  grateful,  partly  be- 
cause her  pluck  steadied  my  nerves,  which  the 
morning's  occurrences  had  flurried  a  little,  and 
partly  because  I  was  glad  that  she  did  not  share 
Robbie's  peculiar  prejudice.  I  went  back  to 
the  house  thoroughly  braced,  and  watched  the 
three  old  women  depart  without  a  pang. 

Nevertheless,  that  description  of  the  other 
housekeepers  did  linger  uncomfortably  in  my 
memory. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PAUL  DABNEY 

I  XL  be  glad  to  get  at  this  kitchen,"  said 
Mary  when  we  went  down  to  survey  the 
scene  of  our  impromptu  labors;  "those  old 
women  were  abominably  careless.  Why,  they 
left  enough  food  about  and  wasted  enough  to 
feed  an  army.  I  would  n't  w^onder,  miss,  if 
some  of  them  blacks  from  outside  come  in  here 
and  make  a  fine  meal  off  of  pickin's.  They 
could  easy  enough,  and  Mrs.  Brane  never 
miss  it. 

"I  dare  say,"  said  I,  inspecting  the  bright, 
cheerful  place  with  real  pleasure;  "but,  at  any 
rate,  Delia  w^as  a  clean  old  soul.  Everything's 
as  bright  as  a  new  pin." 

Mary  begrudged  Delia  this  compliment. 
"Outside,  miss,"  she  said,  "but  it's  a  whited 
sepulchre"  —  she  pronounced  it  "sepoolcur" 
—  "Look  in  here  a  moment.  There's  a  closet 
that's  just  a  scandal." 

She  threw  open  a  low  door  in  the  far  end  of 
the  kitchen  and,  bending,  I  peered  in. 

"Why,"  I  said,  "it's  been  used  as  a  store- 


26  The  Red  Lady 

house  for  old  junk.  One  end  is  just  a  heap  of 
broken-down  furniture  and  old  machinery. 
It  would  be  a  job  to  clear  out,  too,  heavy  as 
lead.  I  doubt  if  a  woman  could  move  most  of 
it.  I  think  Delia  tried,  for  I  see  that  things  have 
been  pushed  to  one  side.  Let  me  have  a  candle. 
You  go  on  with  your  bread-making,  while  I 
get  to  work  in  here.  I  might  do  a  little  to 
straighten  things  out." 

Mary  lit  a  candle  and  handed  it  to  me,  and 
I  went  poking  about  amongst  a  clutter  of  bro- 
ken implements,  pots  and  kettles,  old  garden 
tools,  even  a  lawn-mower,  and  came  against 
a  great  mass  of  iron,  which  turned  out  to  be  a 
lawn-roller.  However  did  it  get  in  here,  and 
why  was  it  put  here.^  I  gave  it  a  push,  and 
founds  that  it  rolled  ponderously,  but  very  si- 
lently aside.  In  the  effort  I  lost  my  balance  a 
little,  and  put  my  hand  out  to  the  wall.  It 
went  into  damp  darkness,  and  I  fell.  There 
was  no  wall  at  the  narrow,  low  end  of  the  closet 
under  the  stairs,  but  a  hole. 

"Oh,  miss,"  called  Mary,  coming  to  the 
door,  her  hands  covered  with  flour,  "Mrs. 
Brane  says  she  wants  you,  please,  to  take  tea 
up  to  the  drawing-room.  There 's  company,  I 
fancy,  and  my  hands  are  in  the  dough." 


The  Red  Lady  27 

I  came  out,  a  little  jarred  by  my  fall,  a  little 
puzzled  by  that  closet  with  its  dark,  open  end 
so  carefully  protected  by  a  mass  of  heavy 
things.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  began  really 
to  suspect  that  something  was  not  quite  right 
at  "The  Pines."  I  said  nothing  to  Mary.  Her 
steady,  cheerful  sanity  was  invaluable.  Hastily 
I  washed  my  rusty,  dusty  hands,  smoothed 
my  hair,  prepared  the  tea-tray,  and  went  up- 
stairs. 

Mrs.  Brane  was  entertaining  two  men  in  the 
drawing-room. 

I  came  in  and  set  the  trav  down  on  the  little 
table  at  Mrs.  Brane's  elbow.  As  I  did  so,  I 
glanced  at  the  two  men.  One  was  a  large,  stout 
man  with  gray  hair  and  a  gray  beard  and  a 
bullying  manner,  belied  by  the  kindly  expres- 
sion of  his  eyes.  I  liked  him  at  once.  The  other, 
for  some  reason,  impressed  me  much  less  fav- 
or^^bly.  He  had  an  air  of  lazy  indifference, 
large,  demure  eyes,  black  hair  very  sleekly 
groomed,  clothes  which  even  my  ignorance  of 
such  matters  proclaimed  themselves  just  what 
w^s  most  appropriate  for  an  afternoon  visit 
to  a  Southern  country  house,  and  a  low,  dep- 
recatory, pleasant  voice.  He  gave  me  a  casual 
look  when  Mrs.  Brane  very  pleasantly  intro- 


ii 


£8  The  Red  Lady 

duced  me  —  she  made  much  more  of  a  guest 
of  me  than  of  a  housekeeper  —  and  dropped 
his  eyes  again  on  the  cup  between  his  long, 
shm  hands.  He  dropped  them,  however,  not 
before  I  had  time  to  notice  that  his  pupils  had 
grown  suddenly  large.  Otherwise,  his  expres- 
sion did  not  change  —  indeed,  why  should  it.^ 
—  but  this  inexplicable  look  in  his  eyes  gave 
me  an  unpleasant  little  shock. 

Mr.  Dabney,"  Mrs.  Brane  was  saying, 
has  been  sent  over  by  Mrs.  Rodman,  one  of 
our  distant  neighbors,  to  enliven  our  dulness. 
He  wants  to  study  my  husband's  Russian  li- 
brary, and,  as  my  husband  made  it  an  especial 
request  that  his  books  should  not  be  lent,  this 
means  that  we  shall  see  Mr.  Dabney  very  of- 
ten. Dr.  Haverstock  has  been  looking  Robbie 
over.  The  poor  little  fellow's  nerves  are  in  a 
pretty  bad  condition  — " 

"You'll  let  me  see  him,  won't  you.^^"  mur- 
mured young  Dabney;  "I  rather  adore  young 
children." 

"Oh,"  laughed  the  big  doctor  in  his  noisy 
way,  "any  one  who  hasn't  red  hair  may  see 
Robbie.  I  hear  he  has  a  violent  objection  to 
red  hair,  eh,  Miss  Gale!  Very  pretty  red  hair, 
too." 


The  Red  Lady  29 

Of  course  it  was  friendly  teasing,  but  it  an- 
gered me  unreasonably,  and  I  felt  the  color 
rising  to  my  conspicuous  crop.  Especially  as 
Mr.  Dabney  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of 
mildly  increasing  interest. 

"How  very  odd!"  he  said. 

"Would  you  mind  taking  Mr.  Dabney  to 
the  bookroomwhen  he's  finished  his  tea.  Miss 
Gale,"  asked  Mrs.  Brane  in  her  sweet  way. 
"I'd  like  to  talk  Robbie  over  a  little  longer 
with  Dr.  Haverstock,  if  you  '11  excuse  me,  Mr. 
Dabney.  Show  him  the  card  catalogue.  Miss 
Gale.  Thank  you." 

It  was  an  unwelcome  duty,  and  I  intended 
to  make  it  as  short  as  possible.  I  had  not 
reckoned  on  young  Mr.  Dabney's  ability  as 
an  entertainer. 

He  began  to  talk  as  we  crossed  the  hall. 

"Splendid  house,  isn't  it.  Miss  Gale?  The 
sort  of  place  you  read  about  and  would  like  to 
write  about  if  you  had  the  gift.  Have  you  ever 
been  in  the  South  before?" 

"No,"  I  said  discouragingly.  "This  is  the 


room." 

(6 


I  know  the  country  about  here  very  well. 
Have  you  been  able  to  get  around  much?  " 
"Naturally  not.  As  a  housekeeper — " 


so  The  Red  Lady 

For  a  moment,  as  we  came  into  the  book- 
room  he  had  stood  looking  gravely  down;  now 
he  gave  me  a  sudden  frank,  merry  look  and 
laughed.  "Oh,"  he  said,  "it's  absurd,  too  ab- 
surd, you  know,  —  your  being  a  housekeeper, 
I  mean.  You  're  just  playing  at  it,  are  n't 
you.r^ 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Dabney,"  I  said,  "I  am  not. 
I  am  very  little  likely  to  play  at  anything.  I 
am  earnestly  trying  to  earn  my  living.  The 
card  catalogue  is  over  there  between  the  front 
windows.  Is  there  anything  else.^" 

"Was  I  rude?"  he  asked  with  an  absurdly 
boyish  air;  "I  am  sorry.  I  did  n't  mean  to  be. 
But  surely  you  can't  mind  people's  noticing 
it?" 

I  fell  into  this  little  trap.  "Noticing  what?" 
I  could  n't  forbear  asking  him. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "the  utter  incongruity  of 
your  being  a  housekeeper  at  all.  I  believe  that 
that  is  what  frightened  Robbie." 

There  was  a  strange  note  in  his  voice  now, 
an  edge.  Was  he  trying  to  be  disagreeable?  I 
could  not  make  out  this  young  man.  I  moved 
away. 

"Miss  Gale,"  —  he  was  perfectly  distant 
and  casual  again,  —  "I  '11  have  to  detain  you 


The  Red  Lady  31 

just  a  moment.  This  bookcase  is  locked,  you 


see—" 


66 


I'll  ask  Mrs.  Brane." 

I  came  back  in  a  few  minutes  with  the  key. 
Mr.  Dabney  was  busy  with  the  card  cata- 
logue, but,  for  some  reason,  —  I  have  always 
had  a  catlike  sense  in  such  matters,  —  I  felt 
that  he  had  only  just  returned  to  this  position, 
and  that  he  wanted  me  to  believe  that  he  had 
spent  the  entire  time  of  my  absence  there. 

"These  other  housekeepers,"  he  said,  "were 
n't  very  earnest  about  earning  their  living, 
were  they.^^  Mrs.  Brane  was  telling  me  — " 

"Oh,"  I  smiled,  rather  surprised  that  Mrs. 
Brane  had  been  so  confidential.  To  me  she 
had  never  mentioned  the  other  housekeepers. 
"They  were  very  nervous  women.  You  see,  I 
am  not." 

He  turned  the  key  about  in  his  hand,  looked 
down,  then  up  at  me  demurely.  He  had  the 
most  disarming  and  trust-inspiring  look. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  are  not  nervous.  It's 
a  great  thing  to  have  a  steady  nerve.  You're 
not  easily  startled."  Then,  turning  to  the 
bookcase,  he  added  sharply,  looking  back  at 
me  as  he  spoke,  "  Do  you  know  anything  about 
Russia?" 


32  The  Red  Lady 

"No,"  I  answered;  ''that  is,  very  little." 

There  were  reasons  why  this  subject  was  dis- 
tasteful to  me.  Again  I  moved  away. 

He  opened  the  bookcase. 

"Phew!"  he  said,  —  "the  dust  of  ages  here! 
I'll  have  to  ask  Mrs.  Brane  to  let  you  —  " 

I  went  out  and  shut  the  door. 

But  I  was  not  so  easily  to  escape  young 
Dabney's  determination  to  see  more  of  me. 
Mrs.  Brane,  that  very  evening,  asked  me  to 
spend  my  mornings  dusting  her  husband's 
books  and  cataloguing  them.  At  first  I  dreaded 
these  hours  with  our  visitor,  but  as  the  days 
went  by  I  came  more  and  more  to  enjoy  them. 
I  found  myself  talking  to  Mr.  Dabney  freely, 
more  about  my  thoughts  and  fancies  than 
about  my  life,  which  holds  too  much  that  is 
painful.  And  he  was,  at  first,  a  most  frank 
and  engaging  companion.  I  was  young  and 
lonely,  I  had  never  had  such  pleasant  inter- 
course. Well,  there  is  no  use  apologizing  for  it, 
trying  to  explain  it,  beating  about  the  bush,  — 
I  lost  my  heart  to  him.  It  went  out  irrevocably 
before  the  shadow  fell.  And  I  thought  that  his 
heart  had  begun  to  move  towards  mine.  Some- 
times there  was  the  strangest  look  of  troubled 
feeling  in  his  eyes. 


The  Red  Lady  33 

This  preoccupation  kept  me  from  thinking 
of  other  things.  I  was  always  going  over 
yesterday's  conversation  with  Mr.  Dabney, 
planning  to-morrow's,  enjoying  to-day's.  Mrs. 
Brane  seemed  to  watch  us  with  sympathy. 
After  a  week  or  so,  she  put  an  end  to  what  she 
called  "Paul  Dabney's  short  comings  and  long 
goings"  and  invited  him  to  stay  with  us.  He 
accepted,  and  I  was  wonderfully  happy.  I  felt 
very  young  for  the  first  time  in  my  whole 
sad  life.  I  remember  this  period  as  a  sort 
of  shadowy  green  stretch  in  a  long,  horrible, 
rocky  journey.  It  came  —  the  quiet,  shady 
stretch  —  soon  enough  to  an  end. 


CHAPTER  V 

**NOT  IN  THE  DAYTIME,  MA'AM" 

ARY'S  labors  and  mine  did  not  last 
very  long.  At  the  end  of  a  week,  a  prom- 
ising couple  applied  for  the  position  described 
in  Mrs.  Brane's  advertisement.  They  drove  up 
to  the  house  in  a  hired  hack  one  morning, 
and  Mrs.  Brane  and  I  interviewed  them  in 
my  little  office.  They  were  English  people, 
and  had  one  or  two  super-excellent  references. 
These  were  rather  antiquated,  to  be  sure,  dat- 
ing to  a  time  before  the  couple's  marriage,  but 
they  explained  that  for  a  long  while  they  had 
been  living  on  their  savings,  but  that  now  the 
higher  cost  of  living  had  forced  them  to  go 
into  service  again. 

The  woman  would  have  been  very  handsome 
except  for  a  defect  in  her  proportions :  her  face 
was  very  much  too  large.  Also,  there  was  a 
lack  of  expression  in  the  large,  heavy-lidded 
eyes.  The  man  was  the  most  discreet  type  of 
English  house  servant  imaginable,  with  side 
whiskers  and  a  small,  thin-lipped,  slightly 
caved-in  mouth.  His  eyes  were  so  small  that 


The  Red  Lady  35 

they  were  almost  negligible  in  the  long,  narrow 
head.  Their  general  appearance,  however,  was 
presentable,  and  their  manner  left  nothing 
to  be  desired.  To  me,  especially,  they  were  so 
respectful,  so  docile,  so  eager  to  serve,  that  I 
found  it  almost  disconcerting.  They  had  the 
oddest  way  of  fixing  their  eyes  on  me,  as 
though  waiting  for  some  sort  of  signal.  Some- 
times, I  fancied  that,  far  down  underneath  the 
servility  of  those  two  pairs  of  eyes,  there  was 
a  furtive  expression  of  something  I  could  not 
quite  translate,  fear,  perhaps,  or  —  how  can  I 
express  it?  —  a  sort  of  fearful  awareness  of  se- 
cret understanding.  Perhaps  there  is  no  better 
way  to  describe  it  than  to  say  that  I  should  not 
have  been  astonished  if,  looking  up  quickly 
into  the  woman's  large,  blank,  handsome  face, 
I  should  have  surprised  a  wink.  And  she  would 
have  expected  me  to  understand  the  wink. 

Of  course,  I  did  not  gather  all  these  im- 
pressions at  once.  It  was  only  as  the  days  went 
by  that  I  accumulated  them.  Once,  and  once 
only,  Henry  Lorrence,  the  new  man,  was  guilty 
of  a  real  impertinence.  I  had  been  busy  in  the 
bookroom  with  my  interminable,  but  delight- 
ful, task  of  dusting  and  arranging  Mr.  Brane's 
books  in  Paul  Dabney's  company,  and,  hearing 


36  The  Red  Lady 

Mary's  voice  calling  from  the  garden  rather 
anxiously  for  "  Miss  Gale,"  I  came  out  sud- 
denly into  the  hall.  Henry  was  standing  there 
near  the  door  of  the  bookroom,  doing  nothing 
that  I  could  see,  though  he  certainly  had  a 
dust-cloth  in  his  hand.  He  looked  not  at  all 
abashed  by  my  discovery  of  him;  on  the  con- 
trary, that  indescribable  look  of  mutual  under- 
standing or  of  an  expectation  of  mutual  under- 
standing took  strong  possession  of  his  face. 

"I  see  you're  keepin'  your  eyes  on  him, 
madam,"  said  he  softly,  jerking  his  head  to- 
wards the  room  where  I  had  left  Mr.  Dabney. 

I  was  vexed,  of  course,  and  I  suppose  my 
face  showed  it.  My  reproof  was  not  so  severe, 
however,  as  to  cause  such  a  look  of  cowering 
fear.  Henry  turned  pale,  his  thin,  loose  lips 
seemed  to  find  themselves  unable  to  fit  to- 
gether properly.  He  stammered  out  an  abject 
apology,  and  melted  away  in  the  hall. 

I  stood  for  several  minutes  staring  after  him, 
I  remember,  and  when,  turning,  I  found  that 
Mr.  Dabney  had  followed  me  to  the  door  and 
was  watching  both  me  and  the  departing  man, 
I  was  distinctly  and  unreasonably  annoyed 
with  him. 

He,  too,  melted  away  into  the  room,  and  I 


The  Red  Lady  37 

went  out  to  see  Mary  in  the  garden.  Truly 
I  never  thought  myself  a  particularly  awe-in- 
spiring person,  but,  since  I  had  come  to  '*  The 
Pines,"  every  one  from  Robbie  to  this  young 
man,  every  one,  that  is,  except  Mary  and  Mrs. 
Brane,  seemed  to  regard  me  w^ith  varying  de- 
grees of  fear.  It  distressed  me,  but,  at  the  same 
time,  gave  me  a  new  feeling  of  power,  and  I 
believe  it  was  a  support  to  me  in  the  difficult 
and  terrifying  days  to  come. 

At  the  box  hedge  of  the  garden,  Mary  met 
me.  As  usual,  she  kept  me  at  a  distance  from 
her  charge. 

"Miss  Gale,"  she  said,  "may  I  speak  to 
you  for  a  minute  .f^" 

"For  as  many  minutes  as  you  like,"  I  said 
cordially. 

She  moved  to  a  little  arbor  near  by  where 
there  was  a  rustic  seat.  I  sat  down  upon  it, 
and  she  stood  before  me,  her  strong,  red 
hands  folded  on  her  apron.  I  saw  that  she  was 
grave  and  anxious,  though  as  steady  as  ever. 

"Miss  Gale,  'tis  a  queer  matter,"  she  be- 
gan. 

My  heart  gave  a  sad  jump.  "Oh,  Mary,"  I 
begged  her,  "don't  say  anything,  please,  about 
ghosts  or  weird  presences  in  the  house." 


38  The  Red  Lady 

She  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  half-hearted 
attempt. 

"Miss  Gale,"  she  said,  "you  know  I  aren't 
the  one  to  make  mountains  out  of  mole-hills, 
and  you  know  I  ain't  easy  scairt.  But,  miss, 
for  Robbie's  sake,  some  thin'  must  be  done." 

"What  must  be  done,  Mary?" 

"  Well,  miss,  I  don't  say  as  it  may  n't  be 
nerves;  nerves  is  mysterious  things  as  well 
I  know,  havin'  lived  in  a  haunted  house  in  the 
old  country  where  chains  was  dragged  up  and 
down  the  front  stairs  regular  after  dark,  and 
such-like  doin's  which  all  of  us  took  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  but  which  was  explained  to  the 
help  when  they  was  engaged.  But  I  do  think 
that  Mrs.  Brane  had  ought  to  move  Robbie 
out  of  that  wing.  Yes'm,  that  I  do." 

"Has  anything  more  happened.^"  I  asked 
blankly. 

"Yes'm.  That  is  to  say,  Robbie's  night- 
mares has  been  gettin'  worse  than  ever,  and, 
last  night,  when  I  run  into  the  nursery,  jump- 
in'  out  of  my  bed  as  quick  as  I  could  and  not 
even  stoppin'  for  my  slippers  —  you  know, 
miss,  I  sleep  right  next  to  the  nursery,  and 
keeps  a  night  light  burnin',  for  I'm  not  one 
©f  the  people  that  holds  to  discipline  and  lets 


The  Red  Lady  39 

a  nervous  child  cry  hisself  into  fits  —  when  I 
come  in  I  seen  the  nursery  door  close,  and  just 
a  bit  of  a  gown  of  some  sort  whiskin'  round  the 
edge.  Robbie  was  most  beside  hisself,  I  did  n't 
hardly  dare  to  leave  him,  but  I  run  to  the  door 
and  I  flung  it  wide  open  sudden,  the  way  a 
body  does  when  they're  scairt-like  but  means 
to  do  the  right  thing,  and,  in  course,  the  hall 
was  dark,  but  miss,"  —  Mary  swallowed,  — 
"I  heard  a  footstep  far  down  the  passage  in 
the  direction  of  your  room." 

My  blood  chilled  all  along  my  veins.  "In 
the  direction  of  my  room.^" 

"Yes,  miss,  so  much  so  that  I  thought  it 
must  'a'  been  you,  and  I  felt  a  bit  easier  like, 
but  when  I  come  back  to  Robbie  — "  here  she 
turned  her  troubled  eyes  from  my  face  — • 
''why,  he  was  yellin'  and  screamin'  again 
about  that  woman  with  red  hair.  .  .  .  Oh,  Miss 
Gale,  ma'am,  don't  you  be  angry  with  me.  You 
know  I'm  your  friend,  but,  miss,  did  you  ever 
walk  in  your  sleep?"  . 

"No,  Mary,  no,"  I  said,  and,  to  my  sur- 
prise, I  had  no  more  of  a  voice  than  a  w^hisper 
to  say  it  in. 

After  a  pause,  "You  must  lock  me  in  at 
night  after  this,  Mary,"  I  added  more  firmly. 


40  The  Red  Lady 

"Or,  better  still,  after  Robbie  is  sound  asleep, 
let  me  come  into  your  bedroom.  You  can  make 
me  up  some  sort  of  a  bed  there,  and  we  will 
keep  watch  over  Robbie.  I  am  sure  it  is  just 
a  dream  of  his  —  the  woman  with  red  hair 
bending  over  him  —  and  I  am  sure,  too,  that 
the  closing  door,  and  the  gown,  and  the  foot- 
step were  the  result  of  a  nervous  and  excited 
imagination.  You  had  been  waked  suddenly 
out  of  a  sound  sleep." 

"I  was  broad  awake,  ma'am,"  said  Mary,  in 
the  voice  of  one  who  would  like  to  be  con- 
vinced. 

I  sat  there  cold  in  the  warm  sun,  thinking 
of  that  woman  with  long,  red  hair  who  visited 
Robbie.  That  it  might  be  myself,  prompted  by 
some  ghoulish  influence  of  sleep  and  night, 
made  my  very  heart  sick. 

"Mary,"  I  asked  pitifully  enough,  "didn't 
Robbie  ever  see  the  woman  with  red  hair  be- 
fore I  came  to  *  The  Pines '  ?  " 

Unwillingly  she  shook  her  head.  "No,  miss. 
The  first  time  he  woke  up  screamin'  about  her 
was  the  night  before  Delia  and  Jane  and  Annie 
gave  notice." 

"But  he  was  afraid  of  red-haired  women  be- 
fore, Mary,  because,  as  soon  as  I  took  off  my 


The  Red  Lady  41 

hat  downstairs  in  the  drawing-room  the  after- 
noon I  arrived,  he  pointed  at  me  and  cried, 
'It's  her  hair!'" 

"Is  that  so,  miss?"  said  Mary,  much  im- 
pressed. "Well,  that  does  point  to  his  havin' 
been  scairt  by  some  red-haired  person  before 
you  come  here." 

"Surely  Robbie  could  tell  you  something 
that  would  explain  the  whole  thing,"  I  said 
irritably.    "Haven't   you    questioned   him.^" 

Mary  flung  up  her  hands.  "Have  n't  I.'^  As 
long  as  I  dared.  Miss  Gale,  it 's  as  much  as  his 
life  is  worth.  Dr.  Haverstock  has  forbidden 
it  absolutely." 

"That's  strange,  I  think,  for  I  know  that 
the  first  way  to  be  rid  of  some  nervous  terror 
is  to  confess  its  cause." 

"Yes,  miss."  Mary  was  evidently  impressed 
by  my  knowledge.  "And  that's  just  what  Dr. 
Haverstock  said  hisself .  But  he  says  it  has  got 
to  be  drawn  out  of  Robbie  by  what  he  calls 
the  indirect  method.  He  has  asked  Mr.  Dabney 
to  win  the  child's  confidence;  that  is,  it  was 
Mr.  Dabney's  own  suggestion,  I  believe.  Mr. 
Dabney  was  with  Mrs.  Brane  and  the  doctor 
when  they  was  discussing  Robbie  and  he  says 
he  likes  children  and  they  likes  him,  as,  in- 


42  The  Red  Lady 

deed,  they  do,  miss.  Robbie  and  him  are  Hke 
two  kiddies  together,  a-playin'  at  railroads  and 
such  in  the  gravel  yesterday  — " 

"Did  he  ask  Robbie  about  the  red-haired 
woman  yesterday,  because  that  may  have 
brought  on  the  nightmare  last  night?  " 

"I  don't  know,  miss.  I  was  n't  in  earshot  of 
them.  Mr.  Dabney,  he  always  coaxes  Robbie 
a  bit  away  from  the  bench  where  I  set  and  sew 
out  here." 

"I  think  I'll  ask  Mr.  Dabney,"  I  said.  I 
began  to  move  away;  then,  with  an  after- 
thought I  turned  back  to  Mary.  She  was 
studying  me  with  a  dubious  air. 

"I  think  we  had  better  try  the  plan  of  watch- 
ing closely  over  Robbie  before  we  say  anything 
to  alarm  Mrs.  Brane,"  I  said.  ''It  would  dis- 
tress her  very  much  to  move  Robbie  out  of  his 
nursery,  and  she  has  been  very  tired  and  languid 
lately.  She  has  been  doing  too  much,  I  think. 
This  new  woman,  Sara  Lorrence,  is  a  terror  for 
house-cleaning,  and  she's  urged  Mrs.  Brane  to 
let  her  give  the  old  part  of  the  house  a  thorough 
cleaning.  Mrs.  Brane  simply  won't  keep  away. 
She  works  almost  as  hard  as  Sara,  and  goes 
into  every  crack  and  cranny  and  digs  out  old 
rubbish  —  nothing's  more  exhausting." 


The  Red  Lady  48 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  Mary  agreed,  "she's  sure 
a  wonder  at  cleaning,  that  Sara.  She's  straight- 
ened out  our  kitchen  closet  somethin'  wonder- 
ful, miss." 

"She  has.f^"  I  wondered  if  Sara,  too,  had 
discovered  that  queer  opening  in  the  back  of 
the  closet.  I  had  almost  forgotten  it,  but  now 
I  decided,  absurd  as  such  action  probably  was, 
to  investigate  the  black  hole  into  which  I  had 
fallen  when  I  tried  to  move  the  lawn  roller. 

I  chose  a  time  when  Sara  Lorrence  was  out 
of  the  kitchen,  cutting  lettuces  in  the  kitchen- 
garden.  For  several  minutes  I  watched  her 
broad,  well-corseted  body  at  its  task,  then, 
singing  softly  to  myself,  —  for  some  reason  I 
had  a  feeling  that  I  was  in  danger,  —  I  walked 
across  the  clean  board  floor  and  stepped  into 
the  closet  to  which  mv  attention  had  first 
been  drawn  by  Mary.  It  was  indeed  a  reno- 
vated spot,  sweet  and  garnished  like  the  abode 
of  devils  in  the  parable;  pots  scoured  and 
arranged  on  shelves,  rubbish  cleared  out, 
the  lawn-mower  removed,  the  roller  taken  to 
some  more  appropriate  place.  But  it  was,  in 
its  further  recesses,  as  dark  as  ever.  I  moved 
in,  bending  down  my  head  and  feeling  before 
me  with  my  hand.  My  fingers  came  presently 


44  The  Red  Lady 

against  a  wall.  I  felt  about,  in  front,  on  either 
side,  up  and  down;  there  was  no  break  any- 
where. Either  I  had  imagined  an  opening 
or  my  hole  had  been  boarded  up. 

I  went  out,  lighted  a  candle,  and  returned. 
The  closet  was  entirely  normal,  —  just  a 
kitchen  closet  with  a  sloping  roof;  it  lay  under 
the  back  stairs,  one  small,  narrow  wall,  and 
three  high,  wide  ones.  The  low,  narrow  wall 
stood  where  I  had  imagined  my  hole.  I  went 
close  and  examined  it  by  the  light  of  my 
candle.  There  was  only  one  peculiarity  about 
this  wall;  it  had  a  temporary  look,  and  was 
made  of  odd,  old  boards,  which,  it  seemed  to 
me,  showed  signs  of  recent  workmanship.  Per- 
haps Henry  had  made  repairs.  I  blew  out  my 
candle  and  stepped  from  the  closet. 

Sara  had  come  back  from  the  garden.  She 
greeted  my  appearance  with  a  low,  quavering 
cry  of  fear.  "Oh,  my  God!"  Then,  recovering 
herself,  though  her  large  face  remained  ashen, 
"Excuse  me,  ma'am,"  she  said  timidly,  "I 
wasn't  expectin'  to  see  you  there"  —  and 
she  added  incomprehensibly  —  "jiot  in  the 
daytime,  ma'am." 

Now,  for  some  reason,  these  words  gave  me 
the  most  horrible  chill  of  fear.  My  mind  simply 


The  Red  Lady  45 

turned  away  from  them.  I  could  not  question 
Sara  of  their  meaning.  Subconsciously,  I  must 
have  refused  to  understand  them.  It  is  always 
difficult  to  describe  such  psychological  phe- 
nomena, but  this  is  one  that  I  am  sure  many 
people  have  experienced.  It  is  akin  to  the 
paralysis  which  attacks  one  in  frightening 
dreams  and  sometimes  in  real  life,  and  pre- 
vents escape.  The  sort  of  shock  it  gave  me 
absolutely  forbade  my  taking  any  notice  of  it. 
I  spoke  to  Sara  in  a  strained,  hard  voice. 

"You  have  been  putting  the  closet  in  order," 
I  said.  "Has  Henry  been  repairing  it.^  I  mean 
has  he  been  mending  up  that  —  hole.^  " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  she  said  liaK  sullenly,  "ac- 
cordin'  to  your  orders."  And  she  glanced 
around  as  though  she  were  afraid  some  one 
might  be  listening  to  us. 

"My  orders?  I  gave  no  orders  whatever 
about  this  closet!"  My  voice  was  almost  shrill, 
and  sounded  angry,  though  I  was  not  angry, 
only  terribly  and  quite  unreasonably  fright- 
ened. 

"Just  as  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  Sara  with 
that  curious  submissiveness  and  its  under- 
current of  something  else,  —  "just  as  you  say. 
Of  course  you  did  n't  give  no  such  orders.  Not 


46  The  Red  Lady 

you.  I  just  had  Henry  nail  it  up  myself"  — 
here  she  fixed  those  expressionless  eyes  upon 
me  and  the  lid  of  one,  or  I  imagined  it,  just 
drooped  —  "on  account  of  sleuths." 

"Sleuths?"  I  echoed. 

"A  kitchen  name  for  rats,  ma'am,"  said 
Sara,  and  came  as  near  to  laughing  as  I  ever 
saw  her  come.  "Rats,  ma'am,  that  comes 
about  old  houses  such  as  this."  And  here  she 
glanced  in  a  meaning  way  over  her  shoulder 
out  of  the  window. 

My  glance  followed  hers;  in  fact,  my  whole 
body  followed.  I  went  and  stood  near  the  win- 
dow. The  kitchen  was  on  a  lower  level  than 
the  garden,  so  that  I  looked  up  to  the  gravel 
path.  Here  Mr.  Dabney  was  walking  with 
Robbie's  hand  in  his.  Robbie  was  chattering 
like  a  bird,  and  Paul  Dabney  was  smiling 
down  at  him.  It  was  a  pretty  picture  in  the 
pale  November  sunshine,  a  prettier  picture 
than  Sara's  face.  But,  as  I  looked  at  them 
gratefully,  feeling  that  the  very  sight  of  those 
two  was  bringing  me  back  from  a  queer  at- 
tack of  dementia,  Robbie,  looking  by  chance 
my  way,  threw  himself  against  his  companion, 
stiffening  and  pointing.  I  heard  his  shrill  cry, 
''There  she  is!  I  wisht  they'd  take  her  away!" 


The  Red  Lady  47 

I  flinched  out  of  his  sight,  covering  my  face 
with  nay  hands  and  hurrying  towards  the  inner 
door  which  led  to  the  kitchen  stairs.  I  did 
not  want  to  look  again  at  Sara,  but  something 
forced  me  to  do  so.  She  was  watching  me 
with  a  look  of  fearful  amusement,  a  most  dis- 
gusting look.  I  rushed  through  the  door  and 
stumbled  up  the  stairs.  I  was  shaking  with 
anger,  and  fear,  and  pain  of  heart,  and,  yet, 
this  last  feeling  was  the  only  one  whose  cause 
I  could  fully  explain  to  myself.  Paul  Dabney 
had  seen  a  child  turn  pale  and  stiff  with  fear 
at  the  mere  sight  of  me,  and  I  could  not  for- 
get the  grim,  stern  look  with  which  he  fol- 
lowed Robbie's  little  pitiful,  pointing  finger. 
And  I  had  fancied  that  this  man  was  falling 
in  love  with  me! 

Truly  my  nerves  should  have  been  in  no 
condition  to  face  the  dreadful  ordeal  of  the 
time  that  was  to  come,  but,  truly,  too,  and 
very  mercifully,  those  nerves  are  made  of 
steel.  They  bend  often,  and  with  agonizing 
pain,  but  they  do  not  break.  I  know  now  that 
they  never  will.  They  have  been  tested  su- 
premely, and  have  stood  the  test. 


I 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  STRAND  OF  RED-GOLD  HAIR 

WENT  to  bed  early  that  night,  and,  par- 
tially undressing  myself,  I  put  on  a  wrap- 
per arid  sat  on  my  bed  reading  till  Mary  should 
come  to  tell  me  that  Robbie  had  fallen  asleep, 
and  that  it  was  time  for  our  night-watch  to 
begin.  I  had  not  spoken  to  Mary  again  on  the 
subject,  for  soon  after  my  investigations  in  the 
kitchen,  Mrs.  Brane  had  asked  me  to  help 
her  in  her  work  of  going  over  the  old,  long- 
closed  drawers  and  wardrobes  in  the  north 
wing,  and  I  had  had  a  very  busy  and  tiring 
afternoon.  It  was  a  relief,  however,  to  find 
that  Sara  dropped  her  labors  when  I  appeared. 
Mrs.  Brane  looked  almost  as  relieved  as  I  felt. 
"That  is  the  most  indefatigable  worker  I 
ever  met,  Miss  Gale,"  she  said  in  her  listless, 
nervous  way;  "she's  been  glued  to  my  side 
ever  since  we  began  this  interminable  piece  of 
work." 

"I  wish  you 'd  give  it  up,  dear  Mrs.  Brane," 
I  said,  "and  let  the  indefatigable  Sara  tire 
out  her  own  energy.  I  'm  sure  that  you  have 


The  Red  Lady  49 

none  to  spare,  and  this  going  over  of  old  let- 
ters, and  papers,  and  books  and  clothes  is  very 
tiring  and  depressing  work  for  you." 

She  gave  a  tormented  sigh.  "Oh,  isn't  it.^^ 
It 's  aging  me."  She  stood  before  a  great,  old 
highboy,  its  drawers  pulled  out,  and  she  looked 
so  tiny  and  helpless,  as  small  almost  as  Rob- 
bie. All  the  rest  of  the  furniture  was  as  mas- 
sive as  the  highboy,  the  four-poster  and  the 
marble-topped  bureau,  and  the  tall  mirror 
with  its  tarnished  frame.  I  liked  the  mirror, 
and  rather  admired  its  reflection  of  myself. 

Mrs.  Brane  looked  wistfully  about  the  room, 
and  her  eyes,  like  mine,  stopped  at  the  mirror. 
How  young  you  look  beside  me,"  she  said, 
and  so  bright,  with  that  wonderful  hair!  I 
wish  you  'd  let  me  know  you  better,  dear;  I  am 
really  very  fond  of  you^  you  know,  and  you 
must  have  something  of  a  history  with  your 
beauty  and  your  'grand  air,'  and  that  halo  of 
tragedy  Mr.  Dabney  talks  about."  She  smiled 
teasingly,  but  I  was  too  sad  to  smile  back. 

"My  history  is  not  romantic,"  I  said  bitterly; 
"it  is  dull  and  sordid.  You  are  very  good  to  me, 
dear  Mrs.  Brane."  I  was  close  to  tears.  "I  wish 
I  could  do  more  for  you." 

"More!  Why,  child,  if  it  wasn't  for  you. 


50  The  Red  Lady 

I'd  run  away  from  'The  Pines'  and  never 
come  back.  No  inducement,  no  consideration 
of  any  kind  would  keep  me  in  this  place." 

She  certainly  spoke  as  though  she  had  in 
mind  some  very  weighty  inducement  and  con- 
sideration. 

*' Why  do  you  stay,  Mrs.  Branc:  "  I  asked 
impulsively.  "At  least,  why  don't  you  go  away 
for  a  change.^  It  would  do  you  so  much  good, 
and  it  would  be  wonderful  for  Robbie.  Why, 
Mrs.  Brane,  you  have  n't  left  this  place  for  a 
day,  have  you,  since  your  husband  died.^^" 

"No,  dear,"  said  the  little  lady  sorrow- 
fully, "hardly  for  an  hour.  It's  my  prison." 
She  looked  about  the  room  again,  and  added 
as  though  she  were  talking  to  herself,  "I 
don't  dare  to  leave  it." 

"Dare?"  I  repeated. 

She  smiled  deprecatingly.  "That  was  a  silly 
word  to  use,  was  n't  it.^  "  Again  that  tormented 
little  sigh.  "You  see,  I'm  a  silly  little  person. 
I  'm  not  fit  to  carry  the  weight  of  other  people's 
secrets." 

Again  I  repeated  like  some  brainless  parrot, 
"Secrets?" 

"Of  course  there  are  secrets,  child,"  she 
said  impatiently.  "  Every  one  has  secrets,  their 


The  Red  Lady  51 

own  or  other  people's.  You  have  secrets,  with- 
out doubt?" 

I  had.  She  had  successfully  silenced  me. 
After  that  we  worked  steadily,  and  there  was 
no  further  attempt  at  confidence. 

Nevertheless,  as  I  lay  on  my  bed  trying  to 
read  and  waiting  for  Mary's  summons,  I  de- 
cided that  I  would  make  a  strong  effort  to  get 
Mrs.  Brane  and  Robbie  out  of  the  house.  I 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  my  employer 
was  the  victim  of  a  mild  sort  of  mania,  one 
symptom  of  which  was  a  fear  of  leaving  her 
home.  I  thought  I  would  consult  with  Dr. 
Haverstock  and  get  him  to  order  Robbie 
and  Robbie's  mother  a  change  of  air.  It  might 
cure  the  little  fellow  of  his  nervous  terrors. 
How  I  wish  I  had  thought  of  this  plan  a  few 
davs  sooner!  What  dreadful  reason  I  have  for 
regretting  my  delay ! 

Mary  was  a  long  time  in  coming.  I  must 
have  fallen  asleep,  for  a  while  later,  I  became 
aware  that  I  had  slipped  down  on  my  pillows 
and  that  my  book  had  fallen  to  the  floor.  I 
got  up,  feeling  rather  startled,  and  looked  at 
my  clock.  It  was  already  half -past  twelve,  and 
Mary  had  not  called  me.  I  went  to  my  door 
and  found  that  it  was  locked.  I  remembered 


52  The  Red  Lady 

that  it  had  been  my  alternate  plan  for  Mary 
to  lock  me  in,  and  I  supposed  that  she  had 
forgotten  that  our  final  decision  was  in  favor 
of  the  other  scheme,  or  she  had  preferred  to 
watch  over  Robbie  alone.  I  was  a  little  hurt, 
but  I  acquiesced  in  my  imprisonment  and 
went  back  to  bed.  I  put  out  the  light,  and  was 
very  soon  asleep  again. 

I  was  waked  by  a  dreadful  sound  of  scream- 
ing. I  sat  up  in  bed,  stiff  with  fear,  my  heart 
leaping.  Then  I  ran  towards  the  door,  remem- 
bered that  it  was  locked,  and  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  pressing  my  hands  to- 
gether. 

The  screaming  stopped.  Robbie  had  had 
his  nightmare,  and  it  was  over.  Thank  God! 
this  time  my  alibi  was  established  without 
doubt.  I  was  enormously  relieved,  for  I  had 
begun  myself  to  fear  that  I  had  been  walking 
in  my  sleep,  and,  perhaps,  influenced  by  the 
description  of  Robbie's  favorite  nightmare, 
had  unconsciously  acted  out  the  horror  beside 
his  bed.  After  a  while,  the  house  being  fairly 
quiet,  though  I  thought  I  would  hear  Mary 
moving  about,  I  went  back  to  my  bed.  '\'\Tien 
she  could  leave  her  charge  I  knew  that  she 
would  come  to  me  with  her  story.  I  tried  to 


The  Red  Lady  53 

be  calm  and  patient,  but  of  course  I  was  any- 
thing but  that. 

It  was  nearly  morning,  a  faint,  greenish 
light  spread  in  the  sky,  opening  fanlike  fingers 
through  the  slats  of  my  shutter.  After  a  while, 
it  seemed  interminable,  a  step  came  down  the 
hall.  It  was  not  Mary's  padded,  nurselike 
tread,  it  was  the  quick,  resolute  footstep  of  a 
man.  It  stopped  outside  my  door.  There  was 
no  ceremony  of  knocking,  no  key  turned.  The 
handle  was  sharply  moved,  and,  to  my  utter 
amazement,  the  door  opened. 

There  stood  Paul  Dabney,  fully  dressed,  his 
face  pale  and  grim. 

*'Come  out,"  he  said.  "Come  with  me  and 
see  what  has  been  done."  I  noticed  that  he 
kept  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  that  the 
pocket  bulged. 

I  got  up,  still  in  my  wrapper,  my  hair  hang- 
ing in  two  long,  dishevelled  braids,  and  came, 
in  a  dazed  way,  towards  him.  He  took  me  by 
the  wrist,  using  his  left  hand,  the  other  still 
in  his  pocket.  His  fingers  were  as  cold  and  hard 
as  steel.  I  shrunk  a  little  from  them,  and  he 
gave  my  wrist  a  queer,  cruel  little  shake. 

"What  does  it  feel  like,  eh?"  he  snarled. 

I  merely  looked  at  him.  His  unexpected  ap- 


54  The  Red  Lady 

pearance,  his  terrible  manner,  the  opening  of 
that  locked  door  without  the  use  of  any  key, 
above  all,  a  dull  sense  of  some  overwhelming 
tragedy  for  which  I  was  to  be  held  responsible, 
—  all  these  things  held  me  dumb  and  powerless. 
I  let  him  keep  his  grasp  on  my  wrist,  and  I 
walked  beside  him  along  the  passage-w^ay  as 
though  I  were  indeed  a  somnambulist.  So 
we  came  to  the  nursery  door.  Inside,  I  saw 
Mary  kneeling  beside  Robbie's  little  bed,  and 
heard  her  sobbing  as  though  her  heart  would 
break. 

"What  is  it?"  I  whispered,  looking  at  Paul 
Dabney  and  pulling  back. 

My  look  must  have  made  some  impression 
on  him.  A  queer  sort  of  gleam  of  doubt  seemed 
to  pass  across  his  face.  He  drew  me  towards 
the  cot,  keeping  his  eyes  riveted  upon  me. 

There  lay  the  little  boy  who  had  never  al- 
lowed me  to  come  so  near  to  him  before,  pas- 
sive and  still  —  a  white  little  face,  a  body  like 
a  broken  flower.  I  saw  at  once  that  he  was 
dead. 

"Oh,  miss,"  sobbed  Mary,  keeping  her 
face  hidden,  "why  didn't  you  keep  to  your 
plan?  Oh,  God  have  mercy  on  us,  we  have 
killed  the  poor  soul!" 


The  Ked  Lady  55 

"Mary,"  I  whispered,  "you  locked  me  in." 

"Oh,  indeed.  Miss  Gale,  no.  I  thought  you 
said  you'd  come  and  spend  the  night  with  me. 
I  had  a  couch  made  up.  I  waited  for  you,  and 
I  must  have  fallen  asleep.  .  ."  Here  she  got 
to  her  feet,  drying  her  eyes.  We  were  both  talk- 
ing in  whispers,  Dabney  still  held  my  wrist, 
the  little  corpse  lay  silent  there  before  us  as 
though  he  wxre  asleep.  "I  was  waked  by 
Robbie.  Oh,  my  lamb!  My  lamb!"  Again  she 
wept  and  tears  poured  down  my  own  face. 

"I  heard  him,"  I  choked.  "I  would  have 
come.  But  the  door  was  locked." 

Here  Mr.  Dabney's  fingers  tightened  per- 
ceptibly, almost  painfully  upon  my  wrist. 

"I  opened  your  locked  door,"  he  sneered. 
"Remember  that." 

Mary  looked  at  me  with  bewildered  eyes. 
"I  did  n't  lock  your  door,  miss." 

We  stared  at  each  other  in  dumb  and  tragic 
mystification. 

"I  came  to  Robbie  as  fast  as  I  could,"  she 
went  on.  "I  was  too  late  to  see  any  one  go  out. 
He  was  in  convulsions,  the  pitiful  baby !  In  my 
arms,  he  died  before  ever  I  could  call  for  help. 
Mr.  Dabney  come  in  almost  at  once  and  • 
and  —  Oh,  miss,  who's  to  tell  his  mother? " 


56  The  Red  Lady 

I  made  a  move.  *'I  must — "  I  began,  but 
that  cold,  steel  grip  on  my  wrist  coerced  me. 

"You  go,  Mary,"  said  Dabney,  "and  break 
it  to  her  carefully.  Send  for  Dr.  Haverstock. 
This  —  sleep-walker  will  stay  here  with  me," 
he  added  between  his  teeth. 

Mary,  with  a  little  moan,  obeyed  and  went 
out  and  slowly  away.  Paul  Dabney  and  I  stood 
in  silence,  linked  together  strangely  in  that 
room  of  death.  This  was  the  man  I  loved.  I 
looked  at  him. 

"You  look  as  innocent  as  a  flower,"  he  said 
painfully.  "Perhaps  this  will  move  you." 

He  drew  me  close  to  Robbie.  He  lifted  one 
of  the  little  hands  and  laid  it,  still  warm,  in 
mine.  The  small  fingers  were  clenched  into  a 
fist,  and  about  two  of  them  was  wrapped  a 
strand  of  red-gold  hair. 

I  fell  down  at  Paul  Dabney 's  feet. 

The  consciousness  of  his  grip  on  my  wrist, 
which  kept  me  from  measuring  my  length  on 
the  floor,  stayed  with  me  through  a  strange, 
short  journey  into  forgetfulness. 

"Ah!"  said  Paul  Dabney,  as  I  came  back 
and  raised  my  head;  "I  thought  that  would  cut 
the  ground  from  under  you." 

He  quietly  untwisted  the  hairs  from  the 


The  Red  Lady  57 

child's  clutch,  and,  still  keeping  his  hold  of  me, 
he  put  the  lock  into  his  pocket-book  and  re- 
placed it  in  an  inner  pocket. 

"Stand  up!"  he  said. 

I  obeyed.  The  blood  was  beginning  to  return 
to  my  brain,  and  v\ath  it  an  intolerable  sense 
of  outrage.  I  returned  him  look  for  look. 

"If  I  am  unfortunate  enough  to  walk  in  my 
sleep,"  I  said  quiveringly,  "and  if,  through 
this  misfortune,  I  have  been  so  terribly  un- 
happy as  to  cause  the  death  of  this  poor  deli- 
cate child,  is  that  any  reason,  Paul  Dabney, 
that  you  should  hold  me  by  the  wrist  and 
threaten  me  and  treat  me  like  a  murderess.^  " 

I  was  standing  at  my  full  height,  and  my 
eyes  were  fixed  on  his.  To  my  inexpressible 
relief,  the  expression  of  his  face  changed.  His 
eyes  faltered  from  their  implacable  judgment, 
his  lips  relaxed,  his  fingers  slowly  slipped  from 
my  wrist.  I  caught  his  arm  in  both  my  hands. 

"Paul!  Paul!"  I  gasped.  Not  for  long  after- 
wards did  I  realize  that  I  had  used  his  name. 
"How  can  you,  how  can  you  put  me  through 
such  agony .^  As  though  this  w^ere  not  enough! 
O  God!  God!" 

I  broke  down  utterly.  I  shook  and  wept.  He 
held  me  in  his  arms.  I  could  feel  him  tremble. 


58  The  Red  Lady 

"Go  back  to  your  room,"  he  said  at  last,  in 
a  low,  guilty  sort  of  voice.  "Try  to  command 
yourself." 

I  faltered  away,  trying  pitifully  as  a  pun- 
ished child,  to  be  obedient,  to  be  good,  to  merit 
trust.  He  looked  after  me  with  such  a  face  of 
doubt  and  despair  that,  had  it  not  been  for 
Robbie's  small,  wax-like  countenance,  I  must 
have  been  haunted  by  the  look. 
,  I  got  somehow  to  my  room  and  lay  down  on 
my  bed.  I  was  broken  in  body,  mind,  and  spirit. 
For  the  time  being  there  was  no  strength  or 
courage  left  in  me.  But  they  came  back. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  RUSSIAN  BOOK-SHELVES 

IT  was  fortunate  for  us  all,  especially  for 
poor  Mary,  that,  after  Robbie's  death, 
Mrs.  Brane  needed  every  care  and  attention 
that  we  could  give  her.  For  myself,  I  had  ex- 
pected prompt  dismissal,  but,  as  it  turned  out, 
Mrs.  Brane  more  than  ever  insisted  upon  my 
staying  on  as  housekeeper.  Neither  Mary,  be- 
cause of  her  loyalty  to  me,  nor  Paul  Dabney, 
for  sorhe  less  friendly  reason,  had  told  the  poor 
little  woman  of  the  cause  of  Robbie's  death, 
nor  of  their  suspicions  concerning  my  com- 
plicity, unconscious  or  otherwise. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  the  reader  that  I 
should  not  have  left  "The  Pines."  It  seems 
strange  to  me  now.  But  there  was  more  than 
one  reason  for  my  courage  or  my  obstinacy. 
First,  I  felt  that  after  Dabney's  extraordinary 
treatment  of  me,  treatment  whfch  he  made  no 
attempt  to  explain  and  for  which  he  made  no 
apology,  my  honor  demanded  that  I  should 
stay  in  the  house  and  clear  up  the  double  mys- 
tery of  the  locked  door  that  opened,  and  of 


60  The  Red  Lady 

the  strand  of  red-gold  hair  that  was  wrapped 
around  poor  Httle  Robbie's  fingers.  Of  course 
I  may  have  dreamed  that  the  door  was  locked ; 
I  may  have,  that  time  when  I  fancied  myself 
broad  awake,  been  really  in  a  state  of  trance, 
and,  instead  of  finding  a  locked  door  and  going 
back  to  bed,  I  may  then  have  gone  through 
the  door  and  down  the  hall  to  Robbie's  nur- 
sery, coming  to  myself  only,  when,  being  again 
in  bed,  I  had  awakened  to  the  sound  of  his 
screams.  This  explanation,  I  know,  was  the  one 
adopted  by  Mary.  Mr.  Dabney  had  other 
and  darker  suspicions.  I  realized  that  in  some 
mysterious  fashion  he  had  constituted  himself 
my  judge.  I  realized,  too,  by  degrees,  and  here, 
if  you  like,  was  the  chief  reason  for  my  not 
leaving  "The  Pines,"  that  Paul  Dabney  sim- 
ply would  not  have  let  me  go.  Unobtrusively, 
quietly,  more,  almost  loathfully,  he  kept  me 
under  a  strict  surveillance.  I  became  conscious 
of  it  slowly.  If  I  had  to  leave  the  place  on  an 
errand  he  accompanied  me  or  he  sent  Mary  to 
accompany  me.  At  about  this  time  Mrs.  Brane, 
without  asking  any  advice  from  me,  engaged 
two  outdoor  men.  They  were  to  tidy  Up  the 
grounds,  slie  told  me,  and  to  do  some  repair- 
ing within  and  without.  They  were  certainly 


The  Red  Lady  61 

the  most  inefficient  workmen  I  have  ever  seen. 
They  were  always  pottering  about  the  house 
or  grounds.  I  grew  weary  of  the  very  sight  of 
them.  It  seemed  to  me  that  one  was  always 
in  my  sight,  whatever  I  did,  wherever  I  went. 
Mrs.  Brane  felt  Robbie's  death  terribly,  of 
course;  she  suffered  not  only  from  the  natural 
grief  of  a  mother,  but  from  a  morbid  fancy 
that,  in  some  way,  the  tragedy  was  her  own 
fault.  "I  should  have  taken  him  away.  I  should 
not  have  let  him  live  in  this  dreary,  dread- 
ful house.  What  was  anything  worth  compared 
to  his  dear  life !  What  is  anything  worth  to  me 
now!"  There  was  again  the  suggestion  that 
living  in  this  house  was  worth  something.  I 
should  have  discussed  all  these  matters  with 
Mr.  Dabney.  Indeed,  I  should  have  made  him 
my  confidant  on  all  these  mysteries  which  con- 
fronted me,  had  it  not  been  for  his  harshness  on 
that  dreadful  night.  As  it  was,  I  could  hardly 
bear  to  look  at  him,  hardly  bear  to  speak  to 
him.  And,  yet,  poor,  wretched,  lonely-hearted 
girl  that  I  was,  I  loved  him  more  than  ever.  I 
kept  on  with  my  work  of  dusting  books,  and  he 
kept  on  with  his  everlasting  notes  on  Russian 
literature,  so  we  were  as  much  as  ever  in  each 
other's  company.  But  what  a  sad  change  in  our 


62  The  Red  Lady 

intercourse!  The  shadow  of  sorrow  and  dis* 
comfort  that  lay  upon  "The  Pines"  lay  heavi 
est  of  all  in  that  sunny,  peaceful  bookroorci 
where  we  had  had  such  happy  hours.  And  I 
could  not  help  being  glad  of  his  presence,  and, 
sometimes,  I  found  his  eyes  fixed  upon  me 
with  such  a  look  of  doubt,  of  dumb  and  mis- 
erable feeling.  I  was  trying  to  make  up  my 
mind  to  speak  to  him  in  those  days.  I  think 
that  in  the  end  I  should  have  done  so,  with 
what  result  I  cannot  even  now  imagine,  had  it 
not  been,  first,  for  the  episode  of  the  Russian 
Baron,  and,  second,  for  another  matter,  in- 
finitely and  incomparably  more  dreadful  than 
any  other  experience  of  my  life. 

The  Russian  Baron  came  to  ''The  Pines" 
one  morning  about  ten  days  after  little  Rob- 
bie's death.  Mrs.  Brane  received  him  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  presently  rang  the  bell  and 
sent  Sara  upstairs  with  a  message  for  me. 

I  came  down  at  once.  The  Baron  sat  oppo- 
site to  Mrs.  Brane  before  the  small  coal  fire. 
He  was  a  heavy,  high-shouldered,  bearded 
man,  with  that  look  of  having  too  many  and 
too  white  teeth  which  a  full  black  beard  gives. 
His  figure  reminded  me  of  a  dressed-up  bolster. 
It  was  round  and  narrow,  and  without  any 


The  Red  Lady  63 

shape,  and  it  looked  soft.  His  plump  hands  were 
buttoned  into  hght-colored  gloves,  which  he 
had  not  removed,  and  his  feet  were  encased 
in  extravagantly  long,  pointed,  very  light  tan 
shoes.  He  kept  his  eyebrows  raised,  and  his  eyes 
opened  so  wide  that  the  whites  showed  above 
the  iris,  and  this  with  no  sense  of  effort  and  for 
no  reason  whatever.  It  disguised  every  possible 
expression  except  one  of  entirely  unwarranted, 
extreme  surprise.  At  first,  when  I  came  into  the 
room,  I  thought  that  in  some  way  I  must  have 
caused  the  look,  but  I  soon  found  that  it  was 
habitual  to  him.  Mrs.  Brane  looked  at  once 
nervous,  and  faintly  amused. 

"Miss  Gale,"  she  said,  "this  is  Baron  Borff." 
She  consulted  the  card  on  her  lap.  "He  was 
a  friend  of  my  husband's  when  my  husband 
was  in  Europe,  and  he,  too,  like  Mr.  Dab- 
ney,  wants  to  see  my  husband's  collection  of 
Russian  books." 

The  Baron  stood  up,  and  made  me  a  bow  so 
deep  that  I  discovered  his  hair  was  parted 
down  the  back. 

"Mees  Gale,"  said  the  Baron,  looking  up  at 
me  while  he  bowed.  He  suggested  the  contor- 
tions of  a  trained  sea-animal  of  some  kind. 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  show  him  the 


64  The  Red  Lady 

books,  Miss  Gale,"  went  on  Mrs.  Brane.  "It 
seems  to  be  one  of  your  principal  duties  in  the 
house,  does  n't  it !  And  I  certainly  did  not  en- 
gage you  for  a  librarian.  But  I  have  not  been 
very  well  since  my  little  boy  died  —  "  Her  lips 
quivered  and  the  Baron  gave  a  magnificent, 
deep,  organ-like  murmur  of  sympathy,  his  un- 
reasonably astonished  eyes  being  fixed  mean- 
while upon  me.  In  fact,  he  had  stared  at  me 
without  deviation  since  my  entrance,  and  I 
was  thoroughly  out  of  countenance. 

"It  ees  true  that  I  should  not  have  intruded 
myself  at  this  so  tragic  time  into  your  house 
of  mourning,"  he  said,  "but,  unfortunately, 
my  time  in  your  country  is  so  very  short  that 
unless  I  come  at  this  juncture  I  should  not  be 
able  to  come  at  all,  and  so  —  " 

"I  understand,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Brane, 
rising  and  twisting  the  Baron's  card  in  her 
hand.  "I  am  very  glad  you  came.  Will  you 
not  take  dinner  with  us  this  evening  .f^" 

The  Baron  looked  at  me  as  if  for  consent  oi 
advice,  and,  thinking  that  he  was  considering 
his  hostess's  health  I  made  a  motion  of  my 
lips  of  "no,"  at  which  he  promptly  but  very 
politely  and  effusively  declined  her  hospitality, 
and  followed  me  out  of  the  room. 


The  Red  Lady  65 

Young  Dabney  met  us  in  the  hall.  I  intro- 
duced him  to  the  Baron,  who  turned  very  pale, 
quite  green,  in  fact.  I  was  astonished  at  this  loss 
of  color  on  his  part,  especially  as  Mr.  Dabney 
was  extremely  polite  and  gentle  with  him  in 
his  demure  way,  and  strolled  beside  him  into 
the  bookroom  chatting  in  the  most  friendly 
fashion,  and  reminding  me  of  his  manner  to  me 
on  the  first  afternoon  of  our  acquaintance.  The 
Baron  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  bookroom 
peeling  off  his  gloves  as  though  his  hands  were 
wet.  His  forehead  certainlv  was,  and  he  staved 
green  and  kept  those  astonished  eyes  fixed 
upon  me  so  that  I  felt  like  screaming  at  him  to 
remove  them. 

Paul  Dabney  sat  on  the  window  seat  and 
took  up  a  book. 

"I  shall  be  perfectly  quiet,  Baron,"  he  said, 
"and  not  disturb  your  investigations." 

He  was  admirably  quiet,  but  I  could  not  help 
but  see  that  he  did  very  little  reading.  He  did 
not  turn  a  page,  but  sat  with  one  hand  in  his 
pocket.  I  remembered  that  he  had  held  his 
hand  just  that  way  on  the  night  of  Robbie's 
death.  One  of  the  outdoors  men  came  across 
the  lawn,  and  began  to  trim  the  vine  beside  one 
of  the  open  windows.  I  thought  the  Baron 


66  The  Red  Lady 

could  not  complain  of  any  too  much  privacy 
for  his  researches. 

"This  is  the  Russian  library,"  I  said,  and  led 
the  way  to  the  shelves.  He  followed  me  so 
closely  that  I  could  feel  his  breath  on  my  neck. 
He  was  breathing  fast,  and  rather  unevenly. 

**  Thank  you  so  much,"  he  said.  He  took  out 
a  volume,  and  rustled  the  pages.  At  last,  "I 
wonder  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  pursue  my 
studies  with  no  other  assistance  than  yours, 
Miss  Gale,"  he  asked  irritably.  He  wiped 
his  forehead.  "I  am  a  student,  a  recluse.  It 
is  a  folly,  but  these  presences"  —  he  pointed 
towards  Mr.  Dabney  and  the  man  at  the 
window  —  "disturb  me." 

I  glanced  at  Paul  Dabney,  who  smiled  and 
came  down  from  his  window  seat,  moving 
towards  the  door,  the  book  under  his  arm,  his 
hand  still  in  his  pocket.  He  did  not  say  any- 
thing, but  went  out  quietly  and  nearly  closed 
the  door.  I  shut  it  quite.  A  second  later  I  heard 
him  speaking  to  the  man  outside,  and  he,  too, 
removed  himself.  The  Baron  gave  a  great  whis- 
tling sigh  of  relief,  ran  to  each  of  the  windows 
in  turn,  then  came  back  to  me  and  spoke  in  a 
low,  muttering  voice. 

"You  are  incomparable,  madame,"  he  said. 


The  Red  Lady  67 

I  was  perfectly  astonished,  both  at  the 
speech  and  the  manner.  But  this  was  my  first 
specimen  of  the  Russian  nobihty,  and  suppos- 
ing that  it  was  the  aristocratic  Russian  method 
of  comphment,  I  bowed,  and  was  going  to  fol- 
low Mr.  Dabney  out,  when  the  Baron,  kneel- 
ing by  the  bookcase,  clutched  my  skirt  in  his 
hand. 

"You  will  not  leave  me.^^ " 

I  withdrew  my  skirt  from  his  grasp.  ''Not 
if  I  can  be  of  any  help  to  you,  Baron,"  I  said 
and  could  not  restrain  a  smile,  he  was  so  ab- 
surd. 

''Help?  Bojemoel  Da!'' 

He  turned  from  me,  and  began  rapidly  to 
remove  all  the  books  from  the  bookcase.  I 
thought  this  a  peculiar  way  to  pursue  studies, 
especially  as  he  was  so  frightfully  quick  about 
it;  I  have  never  seen  any  one  so  marvellously 
quick  with  his  hands,  tumbling  the  books  down 
one  after  the  other.  When  the  case  was  entirely 
empty,  and  I  knew  that  I  should  have  the 
work  of  filling  it  again,  he  very  calmly  removed 
a  shelf  and  began  feeling  with  his  fingers  along 
the  back  of  the  case.  I  stared  at  him,  silent  and 
fascinated.  I  thought  him  harmlessly  insane.  He 
was  evidently  very  much  excited.  He  tapped 


68  The  Red  Lady 

with  his  fingers.  Perspiration  streamed  down 
his  face.  He  glanced  at  me  over  his  shoulder. 

"You  see,"  he  said.  "It  is  back  there.  Don't 
you  hear.f^" 

I  heard  that  his  tapping  produced  a  hollow 
sound. 

"  What  are  you  about?  "  I  asked  him  sternly. 

At  that  he  began  tumbling  the  books  back 
in  their  places  as  feverishly  as  he  had  taken 
them  out.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  they  were 
arranged. 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  quite  right,"  he  said  as 
though  my  bewildered  question  had  been  a 
piece  of  advice.  "Now  you  see  for  yourself."  He 
got  up  and  dusted  his  knees.  "It  is  much  safer 
for  you,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  trust  it  to  writ- 
ing. You  have,  however,  much  better  oppor- 
tunities than  I  knew.  It  will  be  in  Russian, 
of  course,  but  that,  too,  will  give  you  no 
trouble.  I  meant  to  contrive  a  meeting  with 
Maida,  but  this  is  much  better." 

I  stared  at  him,  open-mouthed,  the  jargon 
made  no  sense  at  all. 

He  took  my  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"You  are  extraordinary,  astonishing!  Such 
youth!  Such  innocence!  Boje  moe!  How  is  it 
done.^"  He  put  his  mouth  close  to  my  ear,  and 


The  Red  Lady  69 

muttered  something  in  Russian,  the  spitting, 
purring  tongue  which  I  detest.  What  he  said, 
for  I  was  able  to  translate  it,  sent  me  back, 
white  and  shaking  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"It  will  not  be  long,  eh?"  the  Baron  had 
sputtered  into  my  ear,  "before  the  young  man, 
too,  is  found  with  three  of  those  golden  hah*s 
about  his  fingers,  eh?" 

I  sat  down  and  covered  my  eyes  with  my 
hands,  an  action  that  seemed  to  throw  him  into 
a  con\ailsion  of  mirth.  When  I  looked  up,  the 
abominable,  grotesque  figure  was  gone. 

I  went  over  to  the  window.  He  was  walking 
rapidly  down  the  driveway.  As  he  turned  the 
corner  1  saw  a  man  step  from  the  side  of  the 
road  and  saunter  after  him.  It  was  one  of 
the  outside  men  engaged  by  Mrs.  Brane. 

I  ran  upstairs  to  my  own  room,  and  sat  down 
at  random  in  the  chair  before  my  dressing-table 
and  rested  my  head  in  my  hands.  I  sat  there  for 
a  long,  long  time,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  fighting 
against  a  mist.  Just  so  must  some  victim  dragon- 
fly struggle  with  the  dreadful  stickiness  of  the 
spider's  web.  I  was  blinded  mentally  by  the 
very  meshes  that  were  beginning  to  wrap  round 
me.  I  knew  now  that  I  was  in  great  danger  of 
some  kind,  that  I  was  being  played  with  by  sin- 


70  The  Red  Lady 

ister  and  evil  forces,  that,  perhaps  purposely, 
I  was  being  terrified  and  bewildered  and  mys- 
tified. There  was  none  whom  I  could  surely 
count  for  a  friend,  no  one  except  Mary,  and  how 
could  she  or  any  one  else  understand  the  unde- 
fined, dreamlike,  grotesque  forms  my  experi- 
ences had  taken.  Mrs.  Brane,  perhaps,  was  the 
person  for  me  to  take  into  my  confidence,  and 
yet,  was  it  fair  to  frighten  her  when  she  was  so 
delicate.^  Already  one  person  too  many  had 
been  frightened  in  that  house.  Mr.  Dabney 
was  my  enemy.  No  matter  what  the  feeling 
that  possessed  his  heart,  his  brain  was  pitted 
against  me.  I  was  being  made  a  victim,  a 
cat's-paw.  But  how  and  by  whom.^  This 
Baron  had  treated  me  as  an  accomplice.  He 
had  showed  me  a  secret.  He  had  made  to 
me  a  horrible  suggestion.  The  power  that  had 
frightened  away  the  three  housekeepers,  the 
power  that  had  scared  Delia  and  Jane  and 
Annie  from  their  home,  the  power  that  had 
thrown  little  Robbie  into  the  convulsions  that 
caused  his  death,  the  power  that  had  taken 
every  one  but  me  and  the  Lorrences  —  for 
Mary  now  slept  near  Mrs.  Brane  —  out  of  the 
northern  wing  —  this  power  was  threatening 
Paul  Dabney  and,  from  the  Baron's  whispered 


The  Red  Lady  71 

words,  I  understood  that  it  was  threatening 
Paul  Dabney  through  me.  Was  it  not  a  super- 
natural evil?  Was  I  not  perhaps  possessed? 
Could  I  be  driven  to  commit  crimes  and  to  leave 
as  evidence  against  myself  those  strands  of  hair? 
Flesh  and  blood  could  not  bear  the  horror  of  all 
this.  I  would  go  to  Mr.  Dabney  at  once. 

With  this  resolution  to  comfort  me,  I  rose 
and  made  myself  ready  for  dinner.  It  was  too 
late  to  change  my  dress,  but  Mrs.  Brane  was  not 
particular  as  to  our  dressing  for  dinner;  besides, 
my  frock  was  neat  and  fresh,  a  soft  gray  crepe 
with  wide  white  collar  and  cuffs.  My  working 
dresses  were  all  made  alike  and  trimmed  in  this 
Quaker  style  which  I  had  found  becoming.  I 
thought  that,  in  spite  of  extreme  pallor  and 
shadows  under  my  eyes,  I  looked  rather  pretty. 
I  believe  that  was  the  last  evening  when  I  took 
any  particular  pleasure  in  my  own  looks.  I  was 
rather  nervous  over  my  impending  interview 
with  Paul  Dabney  and  it  was  with  a  certain  re- 
lief that  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Brane  in  the  dining- ' 
room  that  our  guest  had  gone  out  and  would 
not  be  back  that  night. 

*'  How  queer  it  seems  to  be  alone  again ! "  she 
said,  but  I  thought  she  looked  more  alarmed 
than  relieved. 


72  The  Red  Lady 

That  night,  however,  in  spite  of  her  timidity, 
she  was  in  better  spirits  than  I  had  seen  her 
since  Robbie's  death.  Her  hstlessness  was  not 
quite  so  extreme  as  usual,  she  even  chatted 
about  her  youth  and  dances  she  used  to  go  to. 
She  must  have  been  as  pretty  as  a  fairy  and  she 
had  evidently  been  something  of  a  belle,  though 
I  have  noticed  that  all  Southern  women  see 
themselves  in  retrospect  as  the  center  of  a  little 
throng  of  suitors.  Mary  waited  on  us,  for  Henry 
had  the  toothache  and  had  gone  to  bed.  It  was 
quite  a  cozy  and  cheerful  meal.  In  spite  of  my- 
self, the  disagreeable  impression  produced  by 
the  Baron  faded  a  little  from  my  mind  and,  as 
it  faded,  another  feeling  began  to  strengthen. 
In  other  words,  I  began  to  be  acutely  curious 
about  the  hollow  sound  produced  by  tapping 
on  the  back  of  that  bookcase. 

"I  think  you  made  a  great  impression  on  the 
Baron,  Miss  Gale,"  said  Mrs.  Brane  teasingly 
as  we  sat  at  our  coffee  in  the  drawing-room; 
**he  really  seemed  unable  to  take  his  eyes  off 
you.  I  don't  wonder.  You  are  really  extraordi- 
narily pretty  in  an  odd  way." 

In  an  odd  way.^^"  I  could  n't  help  asking. 
Why,  yes,  you  are  the  strangest-looking 
pretty  girl  I  've  ever  seen.  You  know,  my  dear. 


a 
id 


The  Red  Lady  73 

if  I  should  catalogue  your  features  no  one  would 
think  it  the  portrait  of  an  angelic-looking  crea- 
ture. It  would  sound  like  a  vixen.  Now,  stiffen 
up  your  vanity  and  listen."  She  looked  me  over 
and  gave  me  this  description.  "You  have  fiery 
hair,  in  the  first  place,  which  is  the  right  color 
for  a  vixen,  you  know,  and  you  have  a  long, 
slender,  pale  face,  and  green-blue  eyes,  though 
they  do  look  black  at  night  and  gray  sometimes, 
but  still  they  are  the  real  Becky  Sharp  color  and 
no  mistake.  You  have  very  thin,  red  lips,  and, 
if  their  expression  was  not  so  unmistakably 
sweet,  I  should  say  they  were  frightfully  cap- 
able of  looking  cruel  and  —  well,  yes  — mean." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Brane,  what  a  dreadful  portrait!" 

"What  did  I  tell  you.^  It  is  true,  too,  line  by 
line,  and  yet  you  are  quite  the  loveliest-looking 
woman  I  have  ever  seen.  Miss  Gale,  come,  now, 
you  must  see  the  impression  you  make.  Are  you 
not  concerned  over  the  condition  of  poor  Paul 
Dabney.^" 

"I  have  not  noticed  his  condition,"  said  I 
bitterly. 

She  shook  her  head  at  me.  "Fibs!"  she  said. 
"The  poor  boy  is  as  restless  as  a  hawk.  He  is 
getting  pale  and  thin  and  gaunt.  He  eats  noth- 
ing. He  can't  let  you  out  of  his  sight." 


74  The  Red  Lady 

"If  he  is  consumed  by  love  of  me,"  I  said, 
"it  is  strange  that  he  has  never  confided  to 
me  as  to  his  sufferings." 

"But  has  n't  he  really,  Janice?  —  I  am  just 
going  to  call  you  by  your  first  name,  may  I?  " 

I  was  so  grateful  to  her  for  the  pretty  way 
she  said  it  and  for  the  sweet  look  she  gave  me, 
that  I  kissed  the  hand  she  held  out. 

"Has  n't  he  really  made  love  to  you,  Janice.^ 
I  could  have  sworn  that,  during  all  those  hours 
you  two  have  spent  in  the  bookroom,  some- 
thing of  the  sort  was  going  on." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort  at  all.  In  fact,  Mrs. 
Brane,  I  think  that  Paul  Dabney  dislikes  me 
very  much." 

She  thought  this  over,  stirring  her  coffee 
absently  and  staring  into  the  coal  fire.  "It 
is  rather  mysterious,  but,  sometimes,  I  have 
thought  that  too.  At  least,  his  feeling  for  you  is 
very  strong,  one  way  or  the  other.  Sometimes 
it  has  seemed  to  me  that  he  both  hates  and 
loves  you.  How  do  you  treat  him,  Janice.^  " 

I  tried  to  avoid  her  eyes.  "Not  any  way  at 
all,"  I  stammered.  "That  is,  just  the  way  I 
feel,  with  polite  indifference." 

Mrs.  Brane  gave  a  little  trill  of  sad  laughter. 
"Oh,  how  I  am  enjoying  this  nonsense,  Janice! 


The  Red  Lady  75 

I  have  n't  talked  such  delicious  stuff  for  years. 
No,  dear,  you  don't  treat  him  with  polite  indif- 
ference at  all.  You  treat  him  with  the  most 
dreadful  and  crushing  and  stately  hauteur  im- 
aginable. Now,  you  were  much  more  affable 
with  the  Baron." 

I  gave  a  little  involuntary  shiver. 

*'How  ridiculous  that  creature  was,  was  n't 
he?"  laughed  Mrs.  Brane.  *'I  could  hardly 
keep  my  face  straight  as  I  looked  at  him.  He 
was  like  a  make-up  of  some  kind.  He  did  n't 
seem  real,  do  you  know  what  I  mean.f^  I  wish 
he  had  stayed  to  dinner.  He  would  have 
amused  me." 

"He  did  n't  amuse  me,"  I  said  positively; 
*'I  thought  he  was  detestable." 

"Poor  Baron  Borff!  And  he  was  so  enam- 
oured. You  have  a  very  hard  heart,  Janice. 
Never  mind,  when  I  get  rich,  I  '11  set  you  up  like 
a  queen.  You  must  not  be  a  housekeeper  al- 
ways even  if  you  do  refuse  to  be  a  baroness. 
You  did  n't  know  I  had  hopes  of  wealth,  did 
you?"  She  looked  rather  sly  as  she  put  this 
question. 

"I  had  fancied  it,  Mrs.  Brane,"  I  said. 

She  looked  about  the  room  nervously  and 
lowered  her  voice. 


76  The  Red  Lady 

"It  is  so  queer,  Janice,"  she  said;  then  she 
moved  over  to  the  sofa  where  I  sat  and  spoke 
very  low  indeed:  "It  is  so  queer  to  have  a  for- 
tune and  —  not  to  know  where  it  is." 

I,  too,  looked  anxiously  about  me,  even  be- 
hind me  where  there  was  no  possible  space  for 
a  listener. 

"If  you  would  only  tell  me,  Mrs.  Brane,"  I 
began  earnestly,  —  "if  you  would  only  tell  me 
something  about  this  fortune  of  yours,  I  feel 
that  I  might  beable  to  help  you.  Mrs.  Brane,  does 
any  one  know.?  Mr.  Dabney,  for  instance .^^ " 

"No,"  she  murmured.  "I  have  never  told 
any  one;  I  ought  not  to  tell  you.  —  Oh,  Mary, 
is  that  you?  How  you  made  me  jump!  I  sup- 
pose it's  bedtime." 

"Yes'm,"  said  Mary,  "and  past  bedtime. 
Don't  you  want  to  get  strong  and  well,  Mrs. 
Brane?" 

She  laughed  and  stood  up  obediently,  gave 
me  a  look  that  said  "Hush,"  and  followed  Mary 
out.  I  took  up  a  book  and  began  to  read. 

After  an  hour  or  two,  oppressed  by  the  dead 
stillness  of  the  house,  I  went  upstairs  to  my 
own  room. 

But  I  did  not  undress.  The  most  overwhelm- 
ing desire  possessed  me  suddenly  to  go  down 


The  Red  Lady  77 

to  the  bookroom  and  to  discover,  if  I  could,  the 
secret  of  the  bookcase.  There  is  no  doubt  about 
it,  there  is  the  blood  of  adventurers  in  my  veins. 
Danger  is  a  real  temptation  to  me,  danger  and 
the  devious  way.  I  would  rather,  I  believe,  be 
playing  with  peril  than  not. 

The  house  was  verv  silent.  I  was  alone  in  the 
old  wing.  My  nerves  had  been  badly  shaken 
only  that  afternoon,  but  I  was  keen  for  adven- 
ture. Curiosity  was  far  stronger  than  my  fears. 
I  took  off  my  shoes  and  opened  the  door.  A 
faint  light  shone  at  the  far  end  of  the  passage, 
the  night  light  that  Mrs.  Brane  had  been  burn- 
ing there  since  Robbie's  death.  I  walked  along 
the  hallway  to  the  stairs.  1  had  never  realized 
before  how  noiseless  one  mav  be  in  stocking 
feet,  nor  how  noisy  an  old  floor  is  of  itself  under 
the  quietest  step.  Boards  snapped  under  me 
like  pistol  shots.  But  no  one  in  the  sleeping 
house  seemed  the  wiser  for  my  stealthy  passing. 
I  got  down  the  stairs  and  found  my  way  into 
the  bookroom,  saw  that  the  shutters  were  all 
tightly  fastened  and  the  shades  drawn  down. 
Then  I  lighted  the  gas-jet  near  the  Russian 
collection  and  knelt  before  it  on  the  floor. 

1  began  quietly  to  take  out  the  books,  as  I 
had  seen  the  Baron  take  them.  I  had  removed 


78  The  Red  Lady 

perhaps  half  a  dozen  from  the  middle  shelf  when 
the  strangest  feeling  made  me  look  around. 

The  door  of  the  bookroom  was  open  and  I 
had  left  it  shut.  I  rose  to  my  feet.  At  the  same 
instant  something  just  outside  the  threshold  of 
the  door  seemed  to  rise  to  its  feet.  I  looked  at 
i\.  It  was  myself. 

There  is  no  way  of  describing  the  horror  of 
such  a  sight. 

This  figure  wore  my  dress  of  gray  with  its 
Quaker  collar  and  cuffs,  its  long,  slender  face 
was  framed  in  fiery  hair,  its  green-blue  eyes, 
narrow  and  long-lashed,  were  fixed  on  mine. 
There  was  no  mirror  outside  of  that  door;  be- 
sides, no  mirror  could  have  reflected  the  look  of 
white  damnation  that  possessed  this  face.  Hag- 
gard and  hard  and  vile,  with  a  wicked,  stony 
leer  in  the  eyes,  with  a  wicked,  tight  smile  on  the 
lips,  with  a  blasted,  devastated  look  too  dread- 
ful to  describe,  it  faced  me.  And  it  was  myself, 
as  I  might  have  been  after  a  lifetime  of  crime 
and  cruelty. 

I  stood  and  looked  at  it  till  a  black  cloud 
seemed  to  roll  up  over  it,  from  which  for  a  sec- 
ond its  evil  countenance  smiled  imperturbably 
at  me.  Then  the  face,  too,  was  blotted  out  and 
I  fell  down  on  the  floor. 


1 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  DANGEROUS  GAME 

CAME  to  my  senses.  I  looked  up  slowly. 
The  thing  was  gone.  I  put  out  the  light  and 
fled  like  a  hunted  creature  to  my  room.  There 
I  locked  myself  in  and  dropped  down  on  my 
knees  beside  my  bed. 

At  first  it  was  entirely  a  battle  with  fear  that 
kept  me,  rigid  and  silent,  on  my  knees.  I  knew 
that  unless  I  overcame  the  extremity  of  my 
nervous  terror,  I  should  lose  my  mind.  If  I 
went  out  of  my  room  at  aU,  it  would  be  to  go 
raving  and  shrieking  down  the  hall  and  to 
alarm  the  house.  Self-control  was  possible  only 
if  I  should  stay  here  and  conquer  the  evil 
spirit  of  "The  Pines  "  —  conquer  its  effect  upon 
my  own  steadiness  and  self-respect.  I  would 
not  repeat  the  grotesque  tragi-comedy  of  Jane 
and  Delia  and  Annie,  and  present  myself,  gasp- 
ing and  wild-eyed,  to  Mrs.  Brane  demanding 
my  dismissal  on  the  spot.  Neither  would  I  be 
like  the  other  three  housekeepers.  Even  in  that 
moment  of  prostration  I  am  glad  to  say  that  I 
was  not  utterly  a  victim;  the  demon  that  had 


80  The  Red  Lady 

possessed  the  house  had  to  a  certain  extent  al- 
ready met  its  match  in  me. 

Of  course,  during  those  first  hours,  I  did  en- 
tertain the  behef  that  I  was  possessed  by  a  deni- 
zen from  another  world  who  had  come  to  this 
house  to  terrify  and  to  kill  and  had  borrowed 
my  astral  body  for  its  clothing  —  a  horrid  idea 
enough  and  not  unnatural  under  the  circum- 
stances. If  I  remember  rightly  I  decided  that 
if  the  awful  figure  came  again  or  if  any  other 
tragedy  should^happen  at ''  The  Pines  "  I  should 
kill  myself.  Fortunately  my  reason,  though 
badly  shaken,  did  at  least  reassert  itself.  After 
all,  I  am  not  a  natural  believer  in  ghosts.  The 
supernatural  has  never  greatly  interested  or 
impressed  me.  It  is  not  so  much  that  I  am  skep- 
tical as  that  I  am  pragmatic  —  that  is,  I  have  to 
discern  some  use  or  meaning  in  spiritual  experi- 
ences. It  is  this  turn  of  mind,  inherited,  I  think, 
from  my  French  father,  that  saved  me  now. 
Very  gradually,  as  I  knelt  there  in  that  God- 
given  attitude  of  prayer,  an  attitude  whose 
subjective  benefit  to  the  human  race  no  one 
will  ever  be  able  to  measure,  an  attitude  which, 
in  its  humility,  in  its  resignation,  in  its  shutting 
out  of  this  world's  light,  so  opens  the  inner  eyes 
of  the  soul  —  as  I  knelt  there,  my  mood  began 


The  Red  Lady  81 

to  change  from  one  of  insane  superstition  and 
fear  to  one  of  quiet  and  most  determined 
thought. 

In  fact,  my  reason  reasserted  itself  and  power- 
fully. One  by  one,  all  the  alarming  incidents 
began  to  link  themselves  together,  to  suggest 
a  plan,  a  logical  whole.  It  was  as  though,  with 
my  eyes  shut  and  hidden  in  my  hands,  I  saw 
for  the  first  time. 

Three  housekeepers,  one  after  the  other,  had 
been  frightened  away  from  "The  Pines."  The 
old  servants  of  the  house  had  been  forced,  also 
by  supernatural  fears,  to  leave.  A  most  deter- 
mined attempt  had  been  made  against  Rob- 
bie's nerves  and  Mary's  courage.  And  now,  at 
the  climax  of  the  crescendo  —  for  then  it  seemed 
to  me,  God  forgive  me!  that  my  experience  had 
been  worse  than  Robbie's  death  —  I,  the  fourth 
housekeeper,  was  being  terrified  almost  out  of 
my  wits.  All  these  things  pointed  to  one  con- 
clusion. It  was  somebody's  interest  to  isolate 
little  Mrs.  Brane.  It  was  especially  somebody's 
interest  to  frighten  every  one  away  from  the 
northern  wing.  Somewhere  in  this  house,  and 
presumably  in  this  part  of  the  house,  there  was 
something  enormously  valuable,  something  to 
tempt  evil  spirits  clad  in  substantial  flesh  and 


82  The  Red  Lady 

blood,  as  substantial,  for  instance,  as  that  of 
the  bolster-hke  figure  of  the  Baron.  And  the 
leader  of  this  enterprise,  the  master-spirit,  was 
a  hell-cat  with  red-gold  hair  and  a  face  like  my 
own. 

This  was  a  horrid  thought  in  itself  and  al- 
most an  incredible  one,  but  it  was,  at  least,  not 
supernatural.  The  creature  that  had  seemed  to 
rise  up  on  the  threshold  of  the  bookroom  was  a 
living  being,  a  woman  of  flesh  and  blood.  I  re- 
peated this  over  and  over  to  myself.  I  felt  that 
I  must  possess  my  mind  perfectly  of  this  fact 
and  lay  hold  of  it  so  that  no  future  manifesta- 
tions might  so  nearly  drive  me  to  distraction 
as  the  manifestation  of  to-night.  She  was  a  real 
woman,  a  female  criminal,  wily  and  brave  and 
very  cunning.  She  had  deliberately  made  use 
of  this  extraordinary  chance  resemblance,  had 
artfully  heightened  it,  had  copied  my  habitual 
costume,  for  excellent  reasons  of  her  own.  It 
was  probably  entirely  by  her  agency  that  I  had 
been  brought  to  "The  Pines."  With  a  blinding 
realization  of  my  own  stupidity  I  remembered 
the  suspicious  fashion  in  which  I  had  learned 
of  the  position  —  a  slip  of  paper  handed  to  me 
on  the  street!  I  had  been  chosen  deliberately, 
for  my  resemblance,  by  this  thief  for  a  double 


The  Red  Lady  83 

purpose  of  mystification  and  of  diverting  sus- 
picion. What  more  convenient  for  a  night- 
prowler  than  to  possess  a  double  in  some  au- 
thorized inmate  of  the  house?  Night-prowler? 
—  why,  she  might  walk  up  and  down  the  house 
in  broad  daylight,  and,  providing  only  that  she 
was  careful  not  to  be  seen  simultaneously  with 
me,  nor  at  too  close  intervals  of  time  at  an  un- 
reasonable distance  from  my  known  wherea- 
bouts, she  might  stand  at  Mrs.  Brane's  elbow 
or  flit  past  Mary  down  the  stairs  or  go  through 
the  kitchen  under  Sara  Lorrence's  very  nose. . . . 
More  light  here  broke  upon  me  so  brilliantly 
that  it  brought  me  to  my  feet.  I  began  walking 
up  and  down  the  room  in  a  fever  of  excited 
thought.  I  knew  now  why  Henry  Lorrence  and 
the  woman  who  called  herself  his  wife,  cringed 
when  they  met  my  eye,  whitened  at  my  light- 
est reproof,  and,  at  the  same  time,  could  barely 
repress  that  leer  of  evil  understanding.  They, 
too,  had  been  brought  to  "The  Pines."  They 
were  members  of  the  gang  of  which  my  double 
was  the  leader.  Only  —  and  this  cleared  up  a 
w^hole  fog  of  mystery  —  they  did  not  know  the 
secret  of  the  dual  personality.  They  thought 
that  the  criminal  and  the  housekeeper  were 
one  and  the  same  person  under  a  different 


84  The  Red  Lady 

make-up.  They  were  evidently  under  strict 
orders  not  to  betray,  even  by  a  word  or  look, 
even  when  there  was  no  one  by,  their  knowl- 
edge of  collusion  with  Mrs.  Brane's  reputed 
housekeeper;  but  Sara  had  made  a  bad  slip. 
She  had  spoken  of  "instruction"  and  she  had 
said  that  she  had  not  expected  to  see  me  come 
out  of  the  kitchen  closet  in  the  daytime. 

My  God !  What  danger  we  were  all  in !  While 
we  shivered  and  shook  over  ghosts  and  night- 
mares, light  footsteps  in  the  wall  and  draughts 
of  cold  air  going  by,  a  dangerous  gang  of 
thieves  had  actually  taken  up  its  abode  with 
us;  one  of  them  was  hiding  somewhere  in  the 
old  house,  the  others  served  us,  walked  about 
amongst  us,  took  our  orders,  spoke  to  us  dis- 
creetly with  soft  voices  and  hypocritical,  low- 
ered eyes.  We  were  entirely  at  their  mercy  and 
the  only  suspecting  person  in  the  house,  Paul 
Dabney,  suspected  me.  Undoubtedly  he,  too, 
had  explained  to  his  own  satisfaction  the  mys- 
tery of  "The  Pines,"  and  his  explanation  was 
—  Janice  Gale.  He  knew  nothing  about  me,  but 
he  did  —  he  must  —  know  something  about 
Mrs.  Brane's  mysterious  fortune.  Robbie's 
nightmares,  the  strand  of  hair  about  his  little 
fingers,  were  evidence  enough  against  my  in- 


The  Red  Lady  85 

nocence.  I  might  be  a  sleep-walker,  —  he  could 
not  prove  that  I  was  not,  —  but  in  his  heart 
he  believed  me  to  be  a  sleep-walker  with  a  pur- 
pose. He  was  watching  me,  playing  amateur 
detective  in  the  house.  He  had  constituted  him- 
self a  guardian  of  Mrs.  Brane.  Perhaps  he  was 
in  love  with  her. 

You  see,  this  is  not  only  the  history  of  the 
Pine  Cone  mystery.  It  is  the  history  of  my  love 
for  Paul  Dabney.  This  must  be  understood,  for 
it  explains  my  actions.  The  part  I  managed  to 
play,  which  it  astounds  me  even  now  to  think 
that  I  w^as  able  to  play,  would  barely  have  been 
possible  without  the  goad  of  my  bitterness  and 
pain  and  anger.  I  would  have  gone  at  once  to 
Paul  Dabney  and  have  told  him  everything  1 
knew  and  let  him  call  in  outside  help.  But,  ever 
since  he  had  held  me  by  the  wrist  and,  in  spite 
of  his  very  apparent  mental  abhorrence  for  me, 
had  taken  me  into  his  arms,  my  pride  was  up. 
I  would  fight  this  thing  through  alone.  I  would 
make  no  appeal  to  him,  rather  I  would  save  the 
household  myself,  and  when  I  had  exposed  the 
real  criminal  and  shamed  Paul  Dabney's  cru- 
elty to  a  lonely  girl  and  humbled  him  in  his 
conceit,  I  would  go  away  and  begin  life  again 
as  far  as  possible  from  him. 


86  The  Red  Lady 

This  resolution  utterly  possessed  me.  Under 
its  spur  I  began  to  think  with  great  lucidity.  I 
suppose  it  was  then,  at  about  four  o'clock  on 
that  November  morning,  with  the  quiet  house 
sleeping  around  me  and  the  quiet  world  out- 
side just  faintly  turning  gray  with  dawn,  that 
I  began  to  see  the  weap>on  which  lay  within  my 
grasp.  It  was  a  matter  of  turning  the  situation 
upside  down.  In  fact,  if  we  did  that  more  often 
with  our  mental  tangles,  if  suddenly  in  the 
midst  of  a  train  of  thought  we  made  a  volte- 
face^  and  from  looking  at  things  from  our  own 
obvious  viewpoint,  we  suddenly  chose  a  right 
angle  for  contemplation,  I  am  sure  there  would 
be  many  illuminations  similar  to  mine  that 
night.  But  I  did  not  make  any  volte-face  delib- 
erately. It  was  a  sort  of  accident.  Quite  sud- 
denly I  saw  the  situation  as  though  I  were  a 
criminal  myself,  a  criminal  or  a  sleuth,  the 
mental  attitude  must  be  in  some  respects  the 
same.  What  advantage  did  this  fantastic  re- 
semblance give  the  woman  downstairs  that  it 
did  not  also  give  me? 

Now  you  have  it,  the  whole  astounding  situ- 
ation. You  see  what  decision  I  was  coming  to. 
I  would  deliberately  play  out  the  dangerous 
game.  For  the  woman's  benefit  I  would  pre- 


The  Red  Lady  87 

tend  that  1  believed  the  apparition  to  be  ghost- 
Hke,  dreamlike,  the  fabrication  of  my  own  fev- 
erish mind,  but  to  Sara  and  Henry  and  any 
other  Barons  that  might  visit  us,  I  would  play 
my  vixen  as  skilfully,  as  inf ormingly  as  Heaven 
and  my  own  wits  and  courage  would  let  me. 
I  would  discover  the  whereabouts  of  Mrs. 
Brane's  fortune,  I  would  save  it  for  her,  and  I 
would  trap  the  thieves.  That  was  my  resolve, 
the  fruit  of  my  night's  vigil.  Having  made  it,  I 
undressed  myself  and  went  to  bed.  I  fell  asleep 
at  once  like  an  overwearied  child. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MAIDA 

I  WAS  surprised  to  find,  when  I  examined 
myself  in  the  glass  next  morning,  that  I  did 
not  look  like  a  person  that  has  seen  a  ghost.  I 
had  rather  more  color  than  usual  and  my  eyes 
were  bright;  also  the  fact  that  I  had  controlled 
and  overcome  my  nerves  seemed  to  have  acted 
like  a  tonic  to  my  whole  system.  In  some 
mysterious  way  I  had  tapped  a  whole  reservoir 
of  nervous  strength  and  resilience.  The  same 
thing  often  happens  physically:  one  is  tired 
to  the  very  point  of  exhaustion,  one  goes  on, 
there  is  a  renewal  of  strength,  the  effort  that 
seems  about  to  crack  the  muscles  suddenly 
lightens,  becomes  almost  easy  again.  I  sup- 
pose the  nervous  system  is  subject  to  the  same 
rules.  At  any  rate,  in  my  case,  the  explanation 
works. 

Without  any  exaggerated  horror  I  dressed 
again  in  my  Quaker  costume  and  I  went  down 
to  breakfast.  There  must  have  been  something 
in  my  face,  however,  for  Mrs.  Brane,  after  we 
had  had  our  coffee,  began  to  look  at  me  rather 


The  Red  Lady  89 

searchingly,  and  at  last  she  said,  "You  are 
getting  very  thin,  Janice,  do  you  know  that?  " 

**I  had  n't  noticed  it.  Perhaps." 

"Not  perhaps  at  all.  Certainly.  Your  gown  is 
beginning  to  hang  on  you  and  your  face  is  just 
a  wedge  between  all  that  hair.  You  look  a  little 
feverish  too.  Suppose  you  try  to  take  a  little 
more  exercise  and  fresh  air.  After  all,  keeping 
house  at  'The  Pines '  does  not  demand  so  much 
strenuous  desk  work,  does  it.^^  And  now  that 
Paul  Dabney  is  away,  you  can  neglect  that 
endless  library  work." 

"Has  he  gone  for  good.^^"  I  asked,  as  lightly 
as  possible,  though  my  heart  fell. 

"No,  my  dear.  You  will  still  be  able  to  tor- 
ment him  with  your  proud  '  Maisie '  looks  and 
ways.  He  is  coming  back  this  evening  on  the 
afternoon  train.  He'll  be  late  for  tea,  but  we'll 
wait  for  him,  shall  we.^  He  did  n't  want  to  be 
met,  said  he  would  walk  up.  I  think  he  dreads 
that  long,  poky  ride  with  old  George  nursing 
old  Gregory  through  the  sand.  When  you're 
a  young  man  who  flies  about  the  country  in  a 
motor,  *The  Pines'  vehicle  must  be  an  instru- 
ment of  torture.  Janice,  suppose  you  put  on 
your  cloak  and  hat  and  come  out  with  me  for 
a  nice  long  walk.  It  would  do  us  both  good. 


90  The  Red  Lady 

I  have  n't  had  any  heart  for  exercise.  There 
seems  to  be  nothing  to  Uve  for  now  —  but 
Dr.  Haverstoek — " 

"You  think  Dr.  Haverstoek  something  to 
hve  for?"  I  asked,  rather  puzzled. 

She  laughed  a  little  and  blushed  a  great  deal. 
"Mercy,  no!  I  meant  to  say,  'But  Dr.  Haver- 
stoek has  told  me  that  I  must  take  more  exer- 
cise '  —  I  don't  know  why  I  stopped  that  way 
—  absent-mindedness.  I  was  looking  through 
the  window  at  one  of  those  men." 

"Do  you  think  they  are  very  useful  mem- 
bers of  society,  Mrs.  Brane.^^  They  seem  to  do 
very  little  work." 

She  gave  me  an  odd,  half -amused,  half -em- 
barrassed look. 

"They  think  they  are  useful,  poor  fellows! 
They  are  my  pet  charity." 

"Oh,"  said  I  blankly.  I  was  not  sure  whether 
she  was  joking  or  not.  - 

"Come  on,  Janice.  Don't  worry  your  head 
over  my  extravagances.  Your  duty  is  just  to  be 
a  nice,  cheerful,  young  companion  for  me.  It 's 
a  help  to  me  to  see  that  fiery  gold  head  of  yours 
moving  about  this  musty  old  house.  Don't  wear 
your  hat.  It's  not  cold,  and  I  love  to  see  the 
sun  on  your  hair." 


The  Red  Lady  91 

I  tried  to  suppress  my  little  shiver,  but 
could  n't.  She  interpreted  it  very  naturally, 
however.  "Oh,  it  is  n't  a  bit  cold,  not  a  bit." 

So  we  went  out  into  the  mild,  soft  day,  and 
I  went  without  my  hat  for  the  sake  of  letting 
her  see  the  sun  on  my  hair.  As  we  walked  down 
the  ill- weeded  drive  on  which  the  labors  of  the 
two  men  had  made  little  or  no  impression,  I 
wondered  if  narrow,  green  eyes  under  a  mass 
of  just  such  hair  were  watching  us  from  some  se- 
cret post  of  observation.  I  thought  that  I  could 
feel  them  boring  into  my  back.  I  could  not  re- 
strain a  backward  look.  The  old  house  stood 
quietly,  its  long  w^indows  blank  except  for  an 
upper  one,  out  of  which  Sara  was  shaking  a  pil- 
low. I  wondered  why  she  should  be  working  in 
the  nursery,  but  I  did  n't  like  to  draw  Mrs. 
Brane's  attention  to  the  fact. 

To  my  surprise  Mrs.  Brane  was  a  very  ener- 
getic walker.  She  stepped  along  briskly  on  her 
tiny  feet,  and  a  faint  color  came  into  her  poor, 
wistful  face. 

"I  should  be  a  different  person,  Janice,"  she 
sighed,  "if  I  could  get  away  from  this  place 
and  live  in  some  more  bracing  climate,  or  some 
more  cheerful  country.  How  lovely  Paris  would 
be!" 


92  The  Red  Lady 

She  laughed  her  hollow,  little  laugh. 

"My  husband  lived  in  Paris  for  a  long 
time.  Before  that  he  was  in  Russia.  He  knew 
a  great  deal  of  Russian,  even  dialects.  He  was 
a  great  traveler.  1  met  him  at  Aix-les-Bains. 
He  was  taking  the  baths,  and  so  was  I.  We  were 
both  invalids,  and  I  suppose  it  was  a  sort  of 
bond.  But  invalids  should  not  be  allowed  to 
marry.  Of  course,  we  had  no  serious  disease; 
it  was  rheumatism  with  him,  and  nervous  pros- 
tration with  me.  I  wonder  if  there  is  n't  such  a 
thing  as  a  nerve-germ,  Janice." 

"I  wondered,"  absently.  I  was  busy  with  my 
own  thoughts,  and  she  was  a  great  chatterer. 

"I  think  old  houses  get  saturated  with  nerve- 
germs,  truly  I  do.  That's  the  real  explanation 
of  ghosts.  I  am  sure  rooms  are  haunted  by  the 
sorrows  and  mournful  preoccupations  of  the 
people  that  die  in  them.  I  am  not  very  super- 
stitious, and  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  n't.  I 
trembled  for  you.  You  see  those  other  house- 
keepers —  " 

*'Do  tell  me  about  the  other  housekeepers," 
I  begged,  "especially  the  one  just  before  me. 
What  was  she  like.^  " 

"Oh,  a  little,  fat  thing,  white  as  wax,  very 
bustling,  but  with  no  real  ability.  She  stayed 


The  Red  Lady  93 

with  me  for  some  time,  though,  and  I  was  be- 
ginning to  think  that  —  you  know,  Janice,  I 
owe  you  an  apology." 

"  Why,  dear  Mrs.  Brane?  " 

"Because  I  never  told  you  about  those  three 
housekeepers  and  their  alarms.  It  was  rather 
shabby  of  me  not  to  warn  you.  But,  you  see, 
I  did  n't  want  to  suggest  fears  to  you.  I  hope 
I  won't  suggest  them  now.  But  all  my  other 
housekeepers  have  been  haunted." 

"Haunted.^"  I  asked  with  as  much  surprise 
as  I  could  assume. 

"Yes;  the  first  heard  a  voice  in  the  wall,  and 
the  second  knew  that  some  one  was  in  her  room 
at  night.  The  third  was  so  badly  frightened  that 
she  would  n't  tell  me  what  happened  at  all." 

"Where  is  she  now.^^ " 

"I  don't  know.  She  went  away  leaving  me 
no  address,  and  I've  never  heard  a  word  of 
her  since.  At  first  I  thought  she  might  have 
made  away  with  something,  some  money  or 
jewelry,  but  I  have  never  missed  anything." 

"Mrs.  Brane,"  I  asked  hesitatingly,  "what 
is  your  explanation  of  these  apparitions,  of  the 
things  that  alarmed  the  housekeepers,  of  the 
things  that  frightened  Delia  and  Annie  and 
Jane?" 


94  The  Red  Lady 

As  we  talked,  we  had  been  coming  down  the 
long  hill  on  top  of  which  stood  "The  Pines," 
and  now  were  beginning  to  go  towards  that 
swamp,  with  its  black,  smothered  stream,  across 
which  George  had  driven  me  on  the  day  of  my 
arrival.  I  did  not  like  the  direction  of  our  walk; 
I  did  not  like  the  swamp  nor  my  memory  of  the 
oily-looking  stream  under  the  twisted,  sprawl- 
ing trees,  draped  with  Spanish  moss.  But  I  sup- 
posed it  was  Mrs.  Brane's  business,  and  not 
mine.  Besides,  1  was  now  interested  in  what 
she  was  saying. 

She  Hstened  to  my  question,  and  seemed  to 
ponder  her  reply  rather  doubtfully.  At  last 
she  made  up  her  mind  to  some  measure  of 
frankness. 

"Of  course,  I  have  a  sort  of  explanation  of 
my  own  for  their  leaving,"  she  said;  "rather  a 
suspicion  than  an  explanation.  But,  Janice," 
she  looked  about  her,  drew  closer  and  spoke 
very  low,  "if  I  tell  you  this  suspicion  you  must 
promise  to  keep  it  very  strictly  to  yourself.  I 
am  going  against  orders  in  speaking  of  it  at  all. 
And  against  my  own  resolution,  too.  But  I  feel 
as  if  I  must  have  a  confidante,  and  I  do  think 
that  you  are  a  person  to  be  trusted." 

"Oh,   Mrs.   Brane,"   I   said  half-tearfuUy, 


The  Red  Lady  95 

"indeed,  indeed  I  am.  You  will  not  be  sorrv 
if  you  tell  me  everything,  everything  that  has 
to  do  with  these  queer  happeniugs  at  *The 
Pines.'" 

We  came  down  the  sandy  slope  to  the  bridge 
and  on  it  we  paused,  leaning  against  the  rail 
and  looking  far  down  at  the  sluggish,  gray  wa- 
ter. The  black  roots  of  the  trees  crawled  down 
into  it  like  snakes  from  the  banks.  It  was  the 
stillest,  deadliest-looking  water  I  have  ever 


seen. 


Just  underneath  this  bridge  there  is  a 
quicksand,"  said  Mrs.  Brane;  ''a  mule  was  lost 
here  two  years  ago,  and  a  poor,  half-witted  ne- 
gress  killed  herself  by  letting  herself  drop  down 
from  the  bridge.  Was  n't  it  a  dreadful  death 
to  choose  —  slow  and  suffocating?  Ugh!" 

"I  hate  this  place,"  I  said  half  angrilj^;  "why 
do  we  stay  here?  Let's  go  and  do  our  talking 
somewhere  else." 

"I  have  a  fancy  to  tell  you  here,"  she  half 
laughed.  The  laugh  ended  in  a  little  shriek. 
"  Janice !  There 's  some  one  under  the  bridge ! " 

I  clutched  the  rail  and  leaned  forward,  though 
God  knows,  I  was  in  no  mind  for  horrid  sights. 
This  was  neither  horrid  nor  ghostly,  however; 
no  drowned  negress  haunting  the  scene  of  her 


m  The  Red  Lady 

death.  The  discreet,  bewhiskered  face  of  Henry 
Lorrence  looked  respectfully  up  at  us.  He  was 
squatting  on  the  bank  of  the  stream  under  the 
shadow  of  the  bridge,  his  coat  lay  beside  him, 
and  he  was  busy  with  some  tools. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Henry.?"  asked  Mrs. 
Brane  in  rather  a  shrill  voice.  She  had  been 
startled. 

"Mendin'  up  the  bridge,  ma'am,"  said 
Henry  thickly,  for  his  mouth  was  full  of  rusty- 
looking  nails.  "There 's  a  couple  of  weak  planks 
here,  ma'am,  that  I  noticed  the  other  after- 
noon, and  they  seemed  to  me  dangerous  to  life 
and  limb  over  this  here  stream  at  such  a  height. 
If  a  person  fell  through,  ma'am,  there  would  n't 
be  much  chance  for  him,  would  there.?" 

"I  should  think  not.  You're  quite  right." 

"Better  wait  till  I've  got  it  fixed  before  you 
goes  acrost,  ma'am.  It  will  be  a  matter  of  a  few 
hours,  and  I  ain't  sure  't  will  be  safe  then.  The 
whole  bridge  should  be  rebuilt." 

"We'll  stay  on  this  side,"  said  Mrs.  Brane; 
"we  can  go  back  and  walk  along  the  ridge.  I 
don't  think  the  air  is  particularly  healthy  down 
in  this  swamp,  anyway,  even  at  this  time  of  the 
year.  We  won't  be  back  this  way,  Henry.  Make 
a  good  job  of  it." 


The  Red  Lady  97 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Henry,  with  one  of  his 
servile,  thin-lipped  smiles,  "I  mean  to  make 
a  regular  good  job." 

He  began  to  hammer  away  vigorously.  He 
had  quite  an  assortment  of  tools,  a  saw  and  an 
axe  and  some  planks.  It  really  looked  as  if  he 
were  going  to  make  a  thorough  good  job  of  it, 
and  I  hoped  he  would.  A  fall  through  the  bridge 
into  that  thick,  gray,  turbid  water  with  its 
faint  odor  of  rottenness  —  it  was  not  a  pleas- 
ant thought.  And  even  a  very  loud  crying  for 
help  would  not  reach  "The  Pines."  There  was 
no  nearer  place,  and  the  road  led  only  to  us. 
Not  a  nice  spot  for  an  accident  at  all ! 

Mrs.  Brane  and  I  hastened  back  to  the  higher 
ground,  where  we  found  a  path,  soft  with  pine 
needles,  where  the  sunlight  sifted  through  wide 
branches  to  the  red-brown,  hushed  earth. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  safe  place 
for  confidence.  If  I  had  not  happened  to  see 
Henry  at  just  that  instant,  he  would  have 
heard  my  suspicions,  and  Heaven  knows  what 
effect  they  might  have  had  on  his  dull,  honest, 
old  mind!" 

An  honest,  old  mind,  indeed !  —  if  my  own 
suspicions  were  correct.  I  wondered  if  the  whis- 
kers were  false.  Henry  was  really  too  perfect 


98  The  Red  Lady 

an  image  of  the  reliable  old  family  servant.  He 
might  have  been  copied  from  a  book. 

"Well,  here  we  can  look  about  us,  at  any 
rate,"  I  said;  ** there's  no  place  for  eavesdrop- 
pers to  hide  in." 

"After  all,  there  is  n't  so  much  to  tell.  If  I 
knew  more,  why,  then,  there  would  be  no  mys- 
tery, and  I  should  be  safely  away  from  'The 
Pines. '  You  see,  I  suspect  that  there  has  been 
an  attempt  at  burglary  which  has  failed." 

"An  attempt  at  burglary .^^  Oh,  Mrs.  Brane!" 
This  was  almost  as  perfect  an  imitation  of  the 
stereotyped  exclamation  of  perfect  ignorance 
as  Henry's  get-up  was  of  the  English  house- 
servant.  I  blushed  at  it,  but  Mrs.  Brane  did 
not  notice. 

"My  husband  died  of  paralysis,  a  sudden 
stroke.  He  could  not  speak.  And  that  is  why  I 
have  never  been  able  to  leave  'The  Pines.'" 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  I,  honestly  this 
time. 

"  Of  course  you  don't.  You  see,  there  were  se- 
crets in  my  husband's  life.  He  had  an  adventur- 
ous past.  I  fear  he  was  very  wild."  She  sighed, 
but  I  could  see  that  his  wildness  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  her.  She  was  one  of  those  foolish  women 
to  whose  sheltered  virtue  the  fancy  picture  of 


The  Red  Lady  99 

daring  vice  appeals  very  strongly.  I  was  far 
wiser  than  she.  There  were  some  sordid  mem- 
ories in  my  life. 

"When  he  married  me,  he  was  a  man  of 
quite  forty -five,  and  he  reformed  completely. 
I  think  he  had  had  a  shock,  a  fright  of  some 
kind  which  served  as  a  warning.  Sometimes  I 
fancied  that  he  lived  under  a  dread  of  trouble. 
Certainly,  he  was  very  watchful  and  secret  in 
his  ways,  and,  from  being  such  a  globe-trotter, 
he  became  the  veriest  stick-at-home.  He  never 
left  *The  Pines,'  winter  or  summer,  though  he 
would  send  Robbie  and  me  away,"  —  she  gave 
the  pitiful,  little  sigh  that  came  always  now 
with  Robbie's  name.  "He  was  not  at  all  rich, 
though  we  were  suflficiently  comfortable  on  my 
small  fortune.  But  at  times  he  talked  like  a  very 
wealthy  man.  He  made  plans,  he  was  very 
strange  about  it.  At  last,  towards  the  end  of  his 
life  he  began  to  drop  hints.  He  would  tell  me 
that  some  day  Robbie  would  be  rich  beyond 
dreams;  that,  if  he  died,  I  would  be  left  pro- 
vided for  like  a  queen.  He  said,  always  very 
fearfully,  very  stealthily ,  that  he  had  left  every- 
thing to  me,  everything  —  and  of  course  I 
thought  I  knew  that  he  had  very  little  to  leave. 
He  said  that  I  must  be  braver  than  he  had  been. 


100  The  Red  Lady 

'With  a  little  caution,  Edna,  a  very  little  cau- 
tion, you  can  reap  the  fruits  of  it  all. '  Of  course 
I  questioned  him,  but  he  teased  me  and  pre- 
tended that  he  had  been  talking  nonsense.  He 
made  his  will,  though,  at  about  this  time,  and 
left  me  everything  he  had,  everything,  and  he 
underlined  the  '  everything.'  One  night  we  were 
sitting  at  dinner.  He  had  been  perfectly  well 
all  day,  but  he  had  taken  a  ride  in  the  sun  and 
complained  of  a  slight  headache.  We  had  wine 
for  dinner.  I  've  never  been  able  to  touch  a  drop 
since  —  is  n't  it  odd.^^  Suddenly,  while  he  was 
talking,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  'I  feel 
queer,'  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  thick.  He 
grabbed  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  me.  *  Perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you 
now,  Edna,'  the  words  were  all  heavy  and 
blurred,  '  it  is  in  the  house,  you  know  —  the 
old  part.'  He  stood  up,  went  over  to  the  door, 
closed  it  carefully;  he  looked  into  the  pantry 
to  be  sure  that  the  waitress  was  not  there.  He 
came  back  and  stood  beside  my  chair,  looking 
down  at  me.  His  face  was  flushed.  'You  will 
find  the  paper,'  he  began;  and  then  the  words 
began  to  come  queer,  he  struggled  with  them, 
his  tongue  seemed  to  stick  to  his  mouth.  Sud- 
denly he  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  down  on 


The  Red  Lady  101 

the  floor."  Mrs.  Brane  wiped  her  eyes.  "Poor 
Theodore!  Poor  fellow!  He  never  spoke  again. 
He  lived  for  several  days,  and  his  eyes  followed 
me  about  so  anxiously,  so  yearningly,  but  he 
was  entirely  helpless,  could  not  move  a  finger, 
could  not  make  a  sound.  He  died  and  left  me 
tormented  by  the  secret  that  he  could  not  tell. 
It  has  been  like  a  curse.  It  has  been  a  curse.  It 
has  killed  Robbie.  I  believe  that  it  will  some 
day  kill  me." 

Here  the  poor  woman  sank  down  on  a  log 
and  cried.  I  comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could, 
and  begged  her  to  forget  this  miserable  busi- 
ness. "No  problematic  fortune  is  worth  so 
much  misery  and  distress,"  I  said,  "and  if,  in 
all  this  time,  in  spite  of  your  searching  —  and  I 
suppose  you  have  searched  very  thoroughly  — " 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  sighed,  "  I  have  worn  myself 
out  with  it.  Every  scrap  of  paper  in  the  house 
has  been  gone  over  a  hundred  times,  every 
drawer  and  closet.  Why,  since  Sara  stirred 
me  up  with  her  cleaning  in  the  old  part  of  the 
house,  I  have  been  over  everything  again  dur- 
ing this  last  fortnight,  but  with  n6t  the  slight- 
est result." 

"You  see.  It  is  useless.  And,  dear  Mrs. 
Brane,  I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  suggesting 


102  The  Red  Lady 

it,  but,  perhaps,  the  whole  idea  is  a  mistake, 
or  some  fantastic  obsession  of  your  husband's 
mind.  He  was  ill  towards  the  last,  prob- 
ably more  ill  than  you  knew.  You  may  be 
wasting  your  health  and  life  in  the  pursuit 
of  a  mere  chimera.  You  have  no  further 
suspicions  of  any  attempt  at  burglary,  have 
you.? 

"No."  My  words  had  had  some  effect.  She 
stood  up  and  began  to  walk  home  thoughtfully 
and  calmly.  "No.  There  have  been  no  disturb- 
ances for  a  long  time.  Sara  and  Henry  have 
not  been  frightened  nor  have  you.  Mary  has 
seen  no  ghosts.  .  .  .  Perhaps  you  are  right,  dear, 
and  the  whole  thing  is  a  fiction."  She  sighed. 
One  does  not  relinquish  the  hope  of  a  fabulous 
fortune  without  a  sigh. 

We  were  rather  silent  on  the  way  home.  I 
was  planning  an  interview  with  Sara,  my  first 
move  in  the  difficult  and  dangerous  game  that 
I  had  set  myself  to  play.  I  was  frightened,  yes, 
but  terribly  interested.  I  left  Mrs.  Brane  after 
lunch  and  went  down  to  the  kitchen.  Sara  was 
seated  by  the  table  peeling  potatoes,  the  most 
commonplace  and  respectable  of  figures.  She 
lifted  her  large,  handsome  face  and  stood  up, 
setting  down  the  bowl. 


The  Red  Lady  103 

"Go  on  with  your  work,  Sara,"  I  said,  "I 
shall  not  keep  you  but  a  moment." 

She  sat  down  and  I  stood  there,  my  hand 
resting  on  the  table.  My  heart  was  beating  fast, 
and  I  was  conscious  of  a  tightening  in  my 
throat.  Unconsciously,  I  narrowed  my  eyes, 
and  tightened  my  lips  till  my  expression  must 
have  been  something  like  that  mask  of  wicked- 
ness I  had  seen  in  the  doorway  of  the  book- 
room.  I  spoke  in  a  low,  hard  voice,  level  and 
cruel,  and  I  put  my  whole  theory  to  the  test 
at  once;  foolishly  enough,  I  think,  for  I  might 
have  given  myself  away  if  my  guess  had  not 
been  correct  in  this  detail. 

"How^  goes  it,  Maida  .^"  I  asked.  It  was  the 
name  the  Baron  had  used. 

She  started;  the  knite  stopped  its  work.  She 
looked  up,  glancing  nervously  about  the  room. 

"God!"  she  said.  "You're  gettin'  nervy, 
am  t  your 

No  speech  could  have  been  more  unlike  the 
speech  of  the  smooth  and  respectful  Sara. 

I  smiled  as  evilly  as  I  could.  "Once  in  a 
while  I  take  a  risk,  that 's  all.  Don't  refer  to  it 
again.  But  answer  my  questions,  will  you.^^  Any- 
thing new.f^" 

"God,  no!  I'm  about  done  with  this  game. 


104  The  Red  Lady 

Housework  is  no  holiday  to  me,  and  since  they 
nabbed  the  Nobleman  my  heart's  gone  out  of 
me.  Our  game 's  about  up,  unless  we  get  that — " 
here  she  used  a  string  of  vile,  whispered  epi- 
thets—  "this  afternoon,  and  I  don't  think  it's 
likely.  He 's  got  nine  lives,  that  cat  of  a  Hovey ! " 

My  heart  thumped.  I  dared  not  ask  her 
meaning. 

Sara  went  on,  only  it  was  certainly  Maida 
that  spoke  in  the  coarse,  breathless,  furtive 
voice.  "If  the  Nobleman  has  talked,  they're 
coming  back  for  us.  There's  a  dozen  chances 
the  bridge  trick  won't  work.  And,  even  if  it 
does,  the  whole  pack  will  be  down  here  to  in- 
vestigate. All  very  well  for  you  to  say  that  we 
need  just  twenty -four  free  hours  to  pull  the 
thing  off,  but  I  tell  you  what,  madam,  Jaffrey 
and  me  are  gettin'  pretty  sick  —  we  'd  like  a 
glimpse  of  them  jools." 

One  phrase  of  this  speech  had  struck  me  deaf 
and  half  blind.  I  made  a  sign  of  caution  to  the 
horrible  creature,  and  I  went  out.  I  stopped 
in  the  hall  to  look  at  the  tall  grandfather's 
clock  ticking  loudly  and  solemnly.  It  was  al- 
ready very  nearly  five  o'clock.  Paul  Dabney's 
train  was  in,  and  he  was  on  his  way  to  "The 
Pines."  I  stood  there  stupidly  repeating  "the 


The  Red  Lady  105 

bridge  trick"  over  and  over  to  myself.  The 
bridge  trick !  Henry  had  had  a  saw  and  an  axe. 
He  might  just  as  easily  have  been  weakening 
a  plank  as  strengthening  it.  Had  it  not  been 
for  my  presence,  his  entire  reliance  on  my  skill 
in  diverting  Mrs.  Brane's  suspicion,  we  should 
not  have  seen  him  at  his  work.  But  thinking 
me  his  leader,  the  real  instigator  of  the  crime, 
he  had  probably  decided  that  for  some  reason 
I  had  brought  Mrs.  Brane  purposely  to  watch 
him  at  his  task.  It  was  five  o'clock.  Paul  Dab- 
ney  would  be  near  the  bridge.  He  was  prob- 
ably bringing  with  him  a  detective,  this  Hovey, 
of  whom  Sara  had  spoken  so  vilely.  And  the 
red-haired  woman  did  not  mean  them  to  reach 
"The  Pines"  that  night.  By  this  time  she  prob- 
ably had  some  knowledge  of  the  secret  of  the 
bookcase,  and  she  must  feel  that  she  had  suc- 
cessfully frightened  away  my  desire  to  take 
out  a  book  at  night.  She  would  rob  the  book- 
case some  time  within  the  next  twenty-four 
hours,  before  any  one  found  the  smothered 
bodies  of  Paul  Dabney  and  his  companion,  and 
with  her  treasure  she  would  be  off.  Sara  and 
Henry  would  give  notice.  ...  I  stood  there  as 
though  movement  were  impossible,  and  yet  I 
knew  that  everything  depended  upon  haste. 


106  The  Red  Lady 

I  began  to  reckon  out  the  time.  The  train 
got  in  to  Pine  Cone  at  four-thirty,  and  it  would 
probably  be  late.  It  was  always  late.  It  would 
take  two  men  walking  at  a  brisk  pace  at  least 
an  hour  to  reach  the  swamp.  It  was  now  just 
five  o'clock.  I  had  thirty  minutes,  therefore,  in 
which  to  save  the  secret  of  the  bookcase  and 
to  rescue  the  man  I  loved.  It  would  take  me 
at  least  twenty  minutes  to  get  to  the  bridge; 
once  below  the  top  of  the  hill  I  could  run  as 
fast  as  I  liked.  Every  second  was  valuable  now. 
I  went  into  the  bookroom  and  shut  the  door. 
Kneeling  on  the  floor  I  tumbled  out  the  books 
as  I  had  seen  the  Baron,  doubtless  Sara's  "No- 
bleman," do.  Then  I  removed  the  middle  shelf 
and  began  tapping  softly  with  my  fingers. 
There  was  the  hollow  spot,  and  there,  just  back 
of  the  shelf  I  had  removed,  was  a  tiny  metal 
projection.  I  pushed  it.  Down  dropped  a  little 
sliding  panel,  and  I  thrust  my  hand  into  the 
shallow  opening.  I  was  cold  and  shuddering 
with  haste  and  fear  and  excitement.  My  fin- 
gers touched  a  paper,  and  I  drew  it  out.  I  did 
not  even  glance  at  it.  I  hid  it  in  my  dress,  closed 
the  panel,  restored  the  shelf,  and  returned  the 
books  as  quickly  and  quietly  as  I  could.  Then 
I  went  out  into  the  hall. 


The  Red  Lady  107 

The  clock  had  ticked  away  fifteen  of  my  pre- 
cious minutes.  If  the  train  was  late,  I  still  had 
time.  I  went  out  of  the  front  door  and  began, 
with  as  good  an  air  of  careless  sauntering  as  I 
could  force  my  body  to  assume,  to  stroll  down 
the  winding  driveway.  I  longed  to  take  a  short 
cut,  but  I  did  not  dare.  I  was  sure  that  my  dou- 
ble was  on  the  watch.  She  would  not  leave  that 
driveway  unguarded  on  such  an  afternoon.  I 
felt  that  my  life  was  not  a  thing  to  wager  on 
at  that  moment.  I  doubted  if  I  should  be  al- 
lowed to  reach  the  bridge  alive.  The  utter  im- 
portance of  my  doing  so  gave  me  the  courage 
to  use  some  strategy.  I  actually  forced  myself 
to  return,  still  sauntering,  to  the  house  and 
I  got  a  parasol.  Then  I  walked  around  to  the 
high- walled  garden.  Here  I  strolled  about  for 
a  few  moments,  and  then  slipped  away,  plunged 
through  a  dense  mass  of  bushes  at  the  back, 
followed  the  rough  course  of  a  tiny  stream,  and, 
climbing  a  stone  wall,  came  out  on  the  road 
below  the  hill  and  several  feet  outside  of  "The 
Pines"  gateway.  My  return  for  a  parasol  and 
the  changed  direction  of  my  walk  would  be 
certain  to  divert  suspicion  of  my  going  towards 
the  bridge.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  like  a  mouse 
who  allows  itself  a  little  hope  when  the  watch- 


108  The  Red  Lady 

f  ul  cat,  her  tail  twitching,  her  terrible  eyes  half 
shut,  allows  it  to  creep  a  perilous  little  dis- 
tance from  her  claws.  As  soon  as  I  was  well 
out  of  sight  of  the  house,  I  chose  a  short  cut 
at  random,  shut  my  parasol,  and  ran  as  I  had 
never  run  before. 


I 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SWAMP 

HAVE  always  loved  pine  trees  since  that 
desperate  afternoon,  for  the  very  practical 
reason  that  the  needles  prevent  the  growth  of 
underbrush.  My  skirts  were  left  free,  and  my 
feet  had  their  full  opportunity  for  speed,  and 
I  needed  every  ounce  of  strength  and  breath. 
Before  I  came  to  the  top  of  the  last  steep  slope 
that  plunged  down  to  the  stream,  I  heard  a 
hoarse,  choking  cry,  that  terrible  cry  for  "Help! 
Help !  Help ! "  It  was  a  man's  voice,  but  so  thick 
and  weak  and  hollow  that  I  could  not  recog- 
nize it  for  Paul  Dabney's.  I  did  not  dare  to  an- 
swer it,  such  was  my  dread  of  being  stopped 
by  some  murderess  lurking  in  the  gnarled  and 
stunted  trees.  But  I  fairly  hurled  myself  down 
the  path.  There  was  the  bridge.  I  saw  that  a 
great  gap  yawned  in  the  middle  of  it.  I  hurried 
to  the  edge.  Down  below  me  in  the  gray,  rot- 
ten-smelling shadows  floated  a  desperate,  white 
face.  Paul  Dabney's  straining  eyes  under  his 
mud-streaked  hair  looked  up  at  me,  and  the 
faint  hope  in  them  went  out. 


110  The  Red  Lady 

"You  again!"  he  gasped  painfully.  "You've 
come  back  to  see  the  end  ..."  He  smiled  a 
twisted,  ironical  smile.  "If  I  could  get  my  hand 
out  of  this  infernal  grave  I  'd  let  you  wrap  some 
of  that  hair  of  yours  around  my  fingers.  That 's 
your  trade-mark,  is  n't  it.^  Did  you  come  back 
for  that.f^"  He  sank  an  inch  lower,  his  chin  had 
gone  under.  He  lifted  it  out,  bearded  with  filthy 
mud,  and  leaned  back  as  though  against  a  pil- 
low, closing  his  eyes.  He  had  given  up  hope. 

All  this,  of  course,  took  but  a  moment  of 
time.  I  had  been  looking  about,  searching  the 
place  for  help.  Near  the  edge  of  the  horrible, 
sluggish  stream  lay  a  board,  left  there  by  Henry 
after  his  devilish  work,  or,  else,  fallen  when 
Paul  Dabney  had  broken  through.  It  lay  on  the 
farther  bank.  I  stood  up,  measured  the  dis- 
tance of  the  break  in  the  bridge,  and,  going  back 
a  few  paces,  ran  and  jumped  across.  It  was  a 
good  jump.  I  hardly  looked  to  see,  however, 
but  hurried  down  the  opposite  bank  and  shoved 
out  the  board  towards  Paul  Dabney.  Only  his 
face  now  glimmered  like  a  death-mask  on  the 
surface  of  the  mud. 

"Paul,"  I  cried  desperately,  urgently,  com- 
mandingly,  "pull  out  your  arm.  I  have  come 
to  save  you." 


The  Red  Lady  ill 

His  eyes  opened.  He  stared  at  me.  Then  life 
seemed  to  come  back  to  his  face.  He  made  a 
frantic,  choking,  gasping  struggle;  once  he  went 
altogether  down;  then,  with  a  sucking  sound 
his  arm  came  up,  the  fingers  closed  on  my 
board.  I  caught  his  poor,  cold,  slimy  hand.  I 
pulled  with  all  my  strength.  His  grip  was  like 
a  convulsion.  Inch  by  inch  I  dragged  him  to- 
wards the  bank.  The  stream  surrendered  its 
victim  with  a  sort  of  sticky  sob,  and  he  lay 
there  on  the  ground  beside  me,  lifeless  as  a  log, 
hardly  to  be  recognized  as  a  human  being,  so 
daubed  and  drenched  was  he  with  the  black 
ooze  that  had  so  nearly  been  his  death.  My  at- 
tempts to  restore  him  were  soon  successful,  for 
it  was  exhaustion,  not  suffocation,  that  had 
made  him  faint.  He  had  taken  very  little  of 
the  mud  into  his  mouth,  but,  struggling  there 
in  the  bottomless,  horrible  slough  for  nearly 
half  an  hour  had  taxed  his  strength  to  the  last 
gasp. 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  at  me  with 
an  expression  of  grave  astonishment.  I  knew 
that  he  had  not  expected  me  to  be  such  a  se- 
rious criminal  as  to  make  this  deliberate  at- 
tempt on  his  life,  and,  yet,  I  was  sure  as  his 
large,  gray  eyes  searched  me  that  he  was  de- 


112  The  Red  Lady 

liberating  the  possibility.  He  sat  up  presently, 
and,  taking  my  handkerchief,  he  wiped  off  his 
face  and  hair  and  hands. 

"The  rest  is  hopeless,"  he  said. 

"  The  other  man?  "  I  asked  him  shudderingly, 
my  eyes  fixed  on  the  smooth  and  oily  water. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  puzzled  face.  "The 
other  man!  There  was  not  any  other  man  ..." 
Then,  still  looking  at  me,  a  faint,  unwilling 
flush  stole  up  his  cheek. 

"Miss  Gale,"  he  said,  "you  are  without 
doubt  my  guardian  angel.  And  yet,  strangely 
enough,  I  had  a  dreadful  vision  of  what  you 
might  be  as  another  kind  of  angel.  When  I 
was  going  down,"  —  he  shivered  all  over  and 
glanced  at  the  stream,  whose  surface  was  now 
as  smooth  as  it  would  have  been  had  he  sunk 
beneath  it,  —  "when  I  was  going  down,  and 
at  the  last  of  my  strength,  —  I  was  delirious,  I 
suppose,  —  but  I  had  a  sort  of  vision.  I  thought 
you  stood  there  on  the  bank  above  me,  and 
looked  down  with  your  narrow  face  between 
its  two  wings  of  red  hair,  and  mocked  me.  Just 
as  I  was  settling  down  to  death,  you  disap- 
peared. And,  just  a  few  moments  later,  there 
you  were  again,  this  time  with  the  aura  of  a 
saint  .  .  .  Miss  Gale,"  —  and  here  he  looked 


The  Red  Lady  lis 

at  me  with  entire  seriousness,  dropping  his 
tone  of  mockery,  —  "do  you  beheve  in  dual 
personalities?" 

"Really,  Mr.  Dabney,"  I  said,  "I  don't 
think  it 's  a  very  good  time  to  take  up  the  sub- 
ject." 

He  looked  away  from  me,  and  spoke  low 
with  an  air  of  confusion.  "You  called  me  *  Paul ' 
when  you  shoved  out  that  blessed  board,  which 
has  gone  down  in  my  place  ..." 

I  paid  no  attention  to  this  remark,  but  stood 
up.  Silently  he,  too,  rose  and  we  laid  a  log 
across  the  deadly  opening  of  the  bridge  and 
balanced  carefully  back  to  safety.  I  could  not 
think  of  my  leap  of  a  few  minutes  before  with- 
out a  feeling  of  deathly  sickness. 

"You  risked  your  life,"  murmured  Paul 
Dabney;  "you  risked  your  life  to  save  me  ..." 

He  stopped  me  as  we  climbed  up  the  hill. 
It  was  very  dark  there  amongst  the  trees.  He 
took  me  by  the  wrists,  and,  "Janice  Gale,"  he 
said  desperately,  speaking  through  his  teeth, 
"look  up  at  me,  for  the  love  of  God." 

I  did  look  up,  and  he  plunged  his  eyes  into 
mine  as  though  he  were  diving  for  a  soul. 

I  put  up  no  barriers  between  my  heart  and 
his  searching  eyes.  It  was  so  dusky  there  that 


114  The  Red  Lady 

he  could  not  read  any  of  my  secrets.  I  let  him 
search  till  at  last  he  sighed  from  the  bottom 
of  his  soul,  and  let  my  hands  fall,  passing  his 
own  across  his  forehead  with  a  pitiful  air  of 
confusion  and  defeat. 

"'La  belle  dame  sans  merci  has  thee  in 
thrall,'"  he  murmured,  and  we  went  up  mto 
the  glimmering  twilight  of  the  open  spaces 
where  the  swallows  were  still  wheeling  high  in 
search  of  the  falling  sun. 

When  we  reached  the  house,  I  asked  Paul 
Dabney  timidly  if  he  did  not  think  it  best  to 
change  and  not  to  alarm  Mrs.  Brane  by  any 
sight  of  his  condition.  He  agreed  with  a  wry 
sort  of  smile,  and  went  slowly  up  the  stairs.  I 
saw  that  he  held  tight  to  the  railing,  and  that 
his  feet  dragged.  He  was  very  near,  indeed,  to 
collapse;  the  walk  up  the  hill  had  been  almost 
too  much  for  him. 

Nevertheless,  he  appeared  at  dinner-time  as 
trim  and  neat  as  possible,  with  the  air  of  de- 
mure boyishness,  which  was  so  disarming, 
completely  restored. 

Not  only  was  he  neat  and  trim  in  person, 
but  he  was  mentally  alert  and  gay.  He  ate 
hardly  anything,  to  be  sure,  drank  not  at  all, 
and  sat,  tight-strung,  leaning  a  little  forward  in 


The  Red  Lady  115 

his  chair,  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  as  he  laughed 
and  talked.  His  eyes  held,  beneath  bright,  in- 
nocent surfaces,  rather  a  harried,  hunted  look. 
But  he  was  very  entertaining,  so  much  so  that 
his  pallor,  the  little  choking  cough  that  both- 
ered him,  and  my  own  condition  of  limp  reac- 
tion to  the  desperate  excitement  of  the  after- 
noon, passed  entirely  unnoticed  by  Mrs.  Brane. 
Her  better  spirits  of  the  morning  had  returned 
in  force.  She  was  very  glad  to  see  Paul  Dab- 
ney,  so  glad  that  I  suffered  a  twinge  of  heart. 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "but  it's  good  to  have 
a  man  in  the  house.  Shakespeare  is  right,  you 
know,  when  he  says, '  a  woman  naturally  born 
to  fears.' " 

"I  don't  think  he  was  right  at  all,"  Paul 
Dabney  took  her  up.  "I  believe  that  the  man 
is  naturally  the  more  fearful  animal.  Shake- 
speare ought  to  have  said,  '  a  woman  naturally 
feigning  fear.'  I'm  with  the  modern  poet,  'the 
female  of  the  species  is  more  deadly  than  the 
male.'  Take  the  lady  spider,  for  instance." 

"What  does  the  lady  spider  do.^  "  asked  Mrs. 
Brane. 

"She  devours  her  lover  while  she  is  still  in 
his  embrace." 

"How  horrible!" 


116  The  Red  Lady 

"Horrible,  but  the  creature  is  a  very  faith- 
ful and  devoted  mother.  I  think  there  are  many 
women"  —  here  his  hunted  and  haggard  look 
rested  upon  me  —  "who  would  be  glad  to  rid 
themselves  of  a  lover  when  his  —  particular  — 
usefulness  is  over." 

"All  women  kill  the  thing  they  love,"  I 
smiled,  and  I  had  a  dreadful  feeling  that  my 
smile  was  like  the  cruel  and  thin-lipped  smile 
of  the  woman  who  had  planned  Paul  Dabney's 
death. 

That  was  one  of  the  most  terrifying  conse- 
quences of  the  nervous  shock  I  had  suffered, 
that  I  had  quite  often  now  this  obsession,  as 
though  the  vixen  were  using  me,  obsessing  my 
body  with  her  blackened  soul,  as  though  grad- 
ually I  were  becoming  her  instrument.  The 
smile  left  my  shaken  lips,  and  I  saw  a  sort  of 
reflection  of  it  draw  Dabney's  mouth  stij03y 
across  his  teeth.  His  pallor  deepened;  he  looked 
away  and  began  to  crumble  his  bread  with  rest- 
less fingers. 

Henry  passed  through,  and  we  followed  him 
into  the  drawing-room,  where  coffee  was  al- 
ways served.  When  Paul  Dabney  had  first 
come  into  the  dining-room  I  had  glanced 
shrewdly  at  Henry.  The  jaw  behind  the  whis- 


The  Red  Lady  117 

kers  had  dropped,  the  eyes  had  bhnked,  then 
discretion  was  perfectly  restored.  But  I  felt  a 
threatening  sort  of  gloom  emanate  from  the 
man  towards  me,  and  I  realized  that  my  posi- 
tion was  doubly  dangerous.  There  was  a  spirit 
of  mutiny  in  my  supposed  accomplices.  I  trust- 
ed my  double,  however,  to  control  the  pair. 
Their  fear  of  her  was  doubtless  greater  than 
their  dread  of  detection,  and  Henry  probably 
was  relieved  of  some  portion  of  his  fears  by  the 
non-appearance  of  the  Hovey,  whom  Sara  had 
so  befouled  with  epithets,  and  whom  she  evi- 
dently so  greatly  feared. 

Mrs.  Brane  excused  herself  early,  and  I,  too, 
rose  shortly  after  she  had  left  the  room.  I 
moved  slowly  towards  the  door.  Paul  Dabney 
stood  by  the  high  mantel,  one  hand  in  his 
pocket,  the  other  resting  on  the  shelf,  his  head 
a  little  bent,  looking  somberly  at  me  from  under 
his  handsome  brows.  He  looked  very  slim  and 
young.  The  thought  of  his  loneliness,  of  his 
danger,  so  much  greater  than  he  suspected, 
smote  my  heart.  I  wanted  to  go  back  and  tell 
him  everything,  even  my  love.  I  was  hesitat- 
ing, ready  to  turn,  when  he  spoke.  The  voice, 
sharp  and  stinging  as  a  lash,  fell  with  a  bit^ 
across  my  heart. 


118  The  Red  Lady 

"  Good-night,  sleep-walker,^'  he  said. 

My  hand  flew  to  my  breast  because  of  the 
pain  he  caused  me.  He  watched  me  narrowly. 
His  pale  face  was  rigid  with  the  guard  he  kept 
upon  some  violent  feeling.  My  hurt  turned  to 
anger. 

"You  suspect  me  of  sinister  things,  Paul 
Dabney,"  I  said  hotly;  "you  think  that  I  prowl 
about  Mrs.  Brane's  house  while  she  sleeps,  in 
search  of  something  valuable,  perhaps."  I 
laughed  softly.  "Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  give 
you  leave  to  pursue  your  investigations,  though 
I  can't  say  I  consider  you  a  very  ingenious 
detective." 

He  started,  and  the  color  came  in  a  wave 
across  his  face.  For  some  reason  the  slight  upon 
his  amateur  detecting  seemed  to  sting.  I  was 
glad.  I  would  have  liked  to  strike  him,  to  cause 
him  physical  pain.  I  came  in  a  sort  of  rush 
straight  over  to  him,  and  he  drew  warily  back 
till  he  stood  against  the  wall,  his  eyes  narrowed 
upon  me,  his  head  bent,  as  I  have  seen  the  eyes 
and  heads  of  men  about  to  strike. 

"Listen  to  me,"  I  said;  "I  give  you  fair 
warning.  This  afternoon  I  saved  your  life  at 
the  risk  of  my  own.  I  may  not  be  able  to  do 
that  again.  I  advise,"  —  here  I  threw  all  the 


The  Red  Lady  119 

contempt  possible  into  my  voice,  —  "I  advise 
you  to  keep  out  of  this,  to  stay  in  your  room 
and  lock  your  door  at  night.  Don't  smile.  It  is 
a  very  serious  warning.  Good-night,  dreamer, 
and  —  lover  without  faith  .^^ 

At  this  he  put  his  hand  to  his  eyes,  and  I  left 
him  standing  with  this  gesture  of  ashamed  de- 
feat. 

It  was  a  night  of  full  and  splendid  moon; 
my  room  was  as  white  as  the  calyx  of  a  lily,  so 
white  that  its  very  radiance  made  sleep  im- 
possible. Besides,  I  was  excited  by  my  battle 
with  Paul  Dabney,  and  by  the  thought  of  that 
paper  in  my  dress.  God  willing,  now,  the  strug- 
gle would  soon  be  over.  If  I  lived  through  the 
next  twenty -four  hours,  I  would  find  the  treas- 
ure, capture  the  thieves,  confront  Paul  Dab- 
ney with  my  innocence  and  my  achievement, 
and  leave  "The  Pines"  forever.  My  ordeal  was 
not  so  nearly  over  as  I  hoped.  There  were  fur- 
ther tangles  in  the  female  spider's  web.  It  makes 
me  laugh  now  and  blush  to  think  how,  all  the 
while,  the  creature  made  her  use  of  me,  how 
the  cat  let  the  little  mouse  run  hither  and 
thither  in  its  futile  activity;  no,  not  altogether 
futile,  I  did  play  an  extraordinary  role.  I  did 
that  very  afternoon  save  Paul  Dabney's  life; 


120  The  Red  Lady 

I  did  bewilder  the  queen  spider  and  disturb 
and  tear  her  web,  but,  when  all  is  said  and 
done,  it  was  she  who  was  mistress  of  "The 
Pines"  that  night. 

I  did  not  light  my  gas,  so  splendid  was  the 
moon,  but  crouching  near  my  open  window  on 
the  floor,  I  took  out  the  paper  and  spread  it 
open  on  my  knee.  It  was  covered  with  close 
lines  in  the  Russian  script.  The  writing  was  so 
fine  and  delicate  that,  to  read  it,  I  should  need 
a  stronger  light.  I  rose,  drew  my  shade  and  lit 
the  gas.  Again  I  spread  out  the  paper,  then 
gave  a  little  exclamation  of  dismay.  It  was  the 
Russian  script,  perfectly  legible  to  me,  but, 
alas!  the  language  was  not  that  of  modern 
Russian  speech.  It  was  the  old  Slavonic  lan- 
guage of  the  Church.  The  paper  was  as  much 
a  mystery  to  me  as  though  it  were  still  hidden 
in  the  bookcase. 


I 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SPIDER 

N  vain  I  tortured  my  wits;  here  and  there 
a  word  was  comprehensible.  I  made  out 
the  number  5  and  fairly  ground  my  teeth.  Here 
was  the  key  to  the  secret;  here  was  my  chart, 
and  I  could  not  decipher  it.  I  folded  up  the  pa- 
per with  great  care,  ripped  open  a  seam  of  my 
mattress,  and  folded  the  mystery  in.  By  night 
I  would  keep  it  there;  by  day  I  would  carry  it 
about  on  my  body.  Somehow,  I  would  think  out 
a  way  to  decipher  it;  I  would  go  to  New  York 
and  interview  a  priest  of  the  Greek  Church. 
If  necessary  I  would  bribe  him  to  secrecy  .  .  . 
my  brain  was  full  of  plans,  more  or  less  foolish 
and  impossible.  At  any  rate,  I  reasoned  that 
the  Red-haired  Woman,  not  finding  any  pa- 
per in  the  bookcase,  would  do  one  of  two  things 
—  either  she  would  suspect  a  previous  theft 
and  disposal  of  the  treasure  and  give  up  her 
perilous  mission,  or  she  would  suspect  me 
whom  she  had  found  once  at  night  before  the 
book-shelves.  In  this  case  I  was,  of  course,  both 
in  greater  danger,   and,   also,  providentially 


122  The  Red  Lady 

protected.  At  least,  she  would  not  kill  me  till 
she  had  got  that  paper  out  of  my  possession. 
My  problem  was,  first,  to  find  the  meaning  of 
my  valuable  chart,  then  to  put  it  in  her  way, 
and,  while  she  endeavored  to  get  a  translation 
- —  I  could  not  believe  her  to  possess  a  knowl- 
edge of  ecclesiastical  Russian  —  it  was  my  part 
to  rifle  the  hoard  and  to  set  the  police  on  her 
track.  When  I  had  the  meaning  of  the  paper 
I  would  send  word  to  the  police  at  Pine  Cone 
Till  then,  I  would  play  the  game  alone.  So  di' 
my  vanity  and  wounded  feelings  lead  me  on 
and  so  very  nearly  to  my  own  destruction. 

After  I  had  finished  sewing  up  my  mattress- 
seam,  I  put  out  my  light  and  went  to  stand 
near  my  window.  Unconsciously  affected  by 
my  fears,  I  kept  close  to  the  long,  dark  curtain, 
and  stood  still,  looking  down  at  the  silvered 
garden  paths,  the  green-gray  lines  of  the  box, 
the  towering,  fountain-like  masses  of  the  trees, 
waving  their  spray  of  shadow  tracery  across 
the  turf.  I  stood  there  a  long  time  brooding 
over  my  plans  —  it  must  have  been  an  hour  — 
before  I  saw  a  figure  come  out  into  the  garden. 
It  was  Paul  Dabney.  He  was  walking  quietly 
to  and  fro,  smoking  and  whistling  softly.  I 
could  hear  the  gravel  crunch  beneath  his  feet. 


The  Red  Lady  123 

All  at  once  he  stopped  short  and  threw  up  his 
head  as  though  at  a  signal.  He  tossed  away  his 
cigarette.  He  stared  at  the  arbor,  the  one  where 
poor  Mary  used  to  watch  her  little  charge  at 
play,  and  then,  as  though  he  were  drawn  against 
his  will,  he  went  slowly  towards  it,  hesitated, 
bent  his  head  a  little,  and  stepped  in.  I  heard 
the  low  murmur  of  his  voice.  I  thought  that 
Mrs.  Brane  was  in  the  arbor,  and  my  heart 
grew  sick  with  jealousy.  I  was  about  to  drag 
jnyseK  away  from  the  window  when  another 
figure  came  out  of  the  arbor  and  stood  for  an 
instant  in  the  bright  moonlight  looking  straight 
up  to  my  window.  I  grew  cold.  I  stood  there 
holding  my  breath.  I  heard  a  little,  low,  mu- 
sical, wicked  laugh.  The  creature  —  my  own 
cloak  drooping  from  her  shoulders  —  turned 
and  went  back  into  the  shelter  of  the  vine.  My 
God!  What  was  she  about  to  do  to  Paul,  the 
blind  fool  to  sit  there  with  that  horrible  thing 
and  to  fancy  that  he  sat  with  me.^  Having  failed 
in  her  attempt  to  drown  him,  she  was  now  be- 
guiling him  out  of  the  house  for  a  few  hours, 
in  order  to  give  one  of  her  accomplices  a  chance 
to  search  the  bookcase.  I  had  no  scruples  about 
playing  eavesdropper.  I  took  off  my  shoes  and 
hurried  noiselessly  down  the  stairs.  I  stole  to 


124  The  Red  Lady 

a  shuttered  window  in  the  dining-room,  and, 
inch  by  inch,  with  infinite  caution,  I  raised  the 
sash.  I  was  so  near  to  the  arbor  that  a  hand 
stretched  out  at  the  full  length  of  its  arm  could 
touch  the  honeysuckle  vines.  I  stood  there  and 
strained  my  ears. 

The  woman  was  speaking  so  low  that  it  was 
but  a  gentle  thread  of  voice.  It  was  extraordi- 
narily young  and  sweet,  the  tone  —  sweeter 
than  my  voice,  though  astonishingly  like  it. 

"Why  did  I  save  you,  Paul  Dabney.?"  she 
was  murmuring,  *' can't  you  guess .^  Now,  can't 
you  guess?" 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  soft,  long-drawn, 
dreadful  kiss.  I  burned  with  shame  from  head 
to  foot. 

"You  devil  —  you  she-devil!"  said  Paul 
Dabney  in  low,  hot  speech;  "you  can  kiss ! " 

I  could  bear  no  more.  She  must  be  in  his 
arms.  What  was  the  reason  for  this  deviltry, 
this  profanation  of  my  innocence  and  youth, 
this  desecration  of  my  name?  I  hated  and 
loathed  Paul  Dabney  for  his  hot  voice,  for  his 
kiss.  He  thought  that  he  held  me  there  in  his 
arms,  that  he  insulted  me,  tamely  submissive, 
with  his  words,  "You  devil,  you  she-devil  .  .  ." 
I  fled  to  my  room.  I  threw  myself  upon  my 


The  Red  Lady  125 

bed.  I  sobbed  and  raved  in  a  crazed,  smothered 
fashion  to  my  pillow.  I  struck  the  bed  with  my 
hands.  I  do  not  know  how  long  that  dreadful 
meeting  lasted;  I  realized,  with  entire  disre- 
gard, that  while  it  lasted  Sara  was  searching 
the  bookcase.  To  this  day  I  can  think  of  it  only 
with  a  sickness  of  loathing.  Once  I  fancied  that 
I  heard  Paul  Dabney's  step  under  my  window. 
But  I  hid  my  head,  covered  my  ears.  I  lay  in  a 
still  fever  of  rage  and  horror  all  that  night.  The 
insult  —  so  strange  and  unimaginable  a  one 
—  to  my  own  unhappy  love  was  more  than  I 
could  bear.  I  wanted  to  kill,  and  kill,  and  kill 
these  two,  and,  last,  myself. 


CHAPTER  XII 

NOT  REG'LAR 

I  MEANT  to  ask  Mrs.  Brane  the  next  morn- 
ing to  excuse  me  from  my  work  of  catalogu- 
ing the  books  of  her  husband's  hbrary.  I  had 
no  courage  to  face  Paul  Dabney.  Unluckily, 
Mrs.  Brane  did  not  come  down  to  breakfast. 
She  had  a  severe  headache.  I  did  not  like  to 
disturb  her  with  my  request,  nor  did  I  like  to 
give  up  my  duty  without  permission,  for  the 
catalogue  was  nearly  completed  and  Mrs.  Brane 
was  very  impatient  about  it,  so  I  dragged  my- 
self into  the  bookroom  at  the  usual  time.  Paul 
Dabney  was  not  yet  there.  He  breakfasted  late, 
going  out  first  for  a  long  tramp  and  a  swim. 
I  hoped  that  he  would  not  come  at  all  this 
morning. 

I  went  languidly  to  work.  I  did  not  feel  the 
slightest  interest  to  know  whether  or  not  Sara 
Lorrence  had  taken  advantage  of  the  decoying 
of  Paul  Dabney  and  had  made  an  investiga- 
tion of  the  Russian  book-shelves.  I  felt  utterly 
wretched  and  drained  of  life,  and  of  the  desire 
to  live. 


The  Red  Lady  127 

When  at  last  Paul  Dabney's  footstep  came 
along  the  hall,  and,  somewhat  hesitatingly,  in 
at  the  door,  I  did  not  turn  my  head.  He  stopped 
at  sight  of  me,  and  stood  still.  I  could  feel  that 
his  eyes  were  on  me,  and  I  struggled  against 
a  nervous  curiosity  to  see  the  expression  of 
his  look.  But  I  would  not  yield.  I  kept  on  dog- 
gedly, taking  down  a  volume,  dusting  it,  clap- 
ping its  leaves  together,  putting  it  back  and 
making  a  note  of  its  title  and  author  in  the 
book  that  Mrs.  Brane  had  given  me  for  the 
purpose.  My  face  burned,  my  finger-tips  turned 
to  ice.  Anger,  disgust,  shame,  seemed  to  have 
taken  the  place  of  the  blood  along  my  veins. 
At  last,  "You  are  not  as  affable  a  companion 
by  day  as  you  are  by  night,"  drawled  the  young 
man,  and  came  strolling  a  step  nearer  to  me 
across  the  floor. 

"I  know  you  made  me  promise,"  he  went 
on,  "not  to  speak  of  any  moonlight  madness 
by  the  common  light  of  day,  but,  strangely 
enough,  your  spell  does  n't  hold.  I  feel  quite 
able  to  break  my  word  to  you  now." 

He  paused.  I  wondered  if  he  could  feel  the 
tumult  of  my  helpless  rage.  "I  have  been  very 
much  afraid  of  you,"  he  said,  "but  that  is 
changed.  No  man  can  be  afraid  of  the  serpent 


128  The  Red  Lady 

he  has  fondled,  even  when  he  knows  that  its 
fang  is  as  poisonous  as  sin.  I  am  not  afraid  of 
you  at  all." 

The  book  sHd  to  the  jfloor.  My  head  seemed 
to  bend  of  its  own  weight  to  meet  my  hands. 
A  great  stranghng  burst  of  laughter  tore  my 
throat,  pealed  from  my  lips,  filled  the  room.  I 
laughed  like  a  maniac.  I  rocked  with  laughter. 
Then,  staggering  to  my  feet,  I  went  over  to  the 
window  bench,  and  sat  there  sobbing  and  cry- 
ing as  though  my  heart  must  break. 

Paul  Dabney  shut  the  door,  swore,  paced 
the  room,  at  last  came  over  to  me  and  bade  me, 
roughly,  to  "stop  my  noise."  "Don't  make  a 
fool  of  yourself,"  he  said  coldly.  "You  won't 
make  one  of  me,  I  assure  you." 

At  that  I  looked  up  at  him  through  a  veil  of 
tears,  showing  him  a  face  that  must  have  been 
as  simple  as  an  angry  child's. 

Look  at  me,  Paul  Dabney,"  I  gasped. 
Look  hard  —  as  hard  as  you  looked  yester- 
day afternoon  down  there  near  the  swamp  af- 
ter I  had  saved  your  life.  And,  when  you  have 
looked,  tell  me  what  you  know  about  me  — 
me  —  me  —  Janice  Gale." 

He  caught  me  by  the  hands  and  looked.  My 
tears,  falling,  left  my  vision  clear,  and  his  face 


The  Red  Lady  129 

showed  so  haunted  and  haggard  and  spent,  so 
wronged,  that  with  a  welcome  rush,  tender- 
ness and  pity  and  understanding  came  back 
for  a  moment  to  my  heart.  I  reahzed,  for  just 
that  moment,  what  he  must  be  suffering  from 
this  dreadful  tangle  in  which  he  had  been  caught. 
How  could  he  know  me  for  what  I  really  was 
when  that  demon  came  to  him  with  my  face 
and  voice  and  hands  and  eyes?  And  yet  —  the 
moment  passed  and  left  me  hard  again  —  I  felt 
that  he  ought  to  have  known.  Some  glimmer 
of  the  truth  should  have  come  to  him.  In  fact, 
after  a  moment  he  dropped  my  hands  and  put 
his  own  over  his  eyes.  He  went  over  to  the  win- 
dow and  stood  there,  staring  out,  unseeing,  I 
was  sure.  His  shoulders  sagged,  his  whole  slight, 
energetic  body  drooped.  I  saw  his  fist  shut 
and  open  at  his  side.  After  a  long  time,  he 
turned  and  came  slowly  back  to  stand  before 
me. 

"Janice  Gale,''  he  said,  in  a  changed  and 
much  more  gentle  voice,  "I  wish  you  would 
tell  me  what  the  accursed  —  mystery  means. 
Do  you  remember  last  night  .^  Do  you  remem- 
ber —  do  your  lips  remember  our  kisses.^  I  can't 
look  at  the  sweetness  and  the  sorrow  of  them 
and  believe  it.  Is  this  your  real  self,  or  is  that.^ 


130  The  Red  Lady 

Are  you  possessed  by  a  night-demon,  or  is  this 
a  mask  of  youth  and  innocence?  I  do  beheve 
you  must  be  a  victim  of  that  strange  psychic 
affliction  of  a  divided  personahty.  Janice  — 
tell  me,  do  you  know  what  you  do"  —  he 
dropped  his  voice  as  a  man  who  speaks  of 
ghostly  and  unhallowed  things  —  *'  after  you 
have  gone  to  sleep?" 

I  wanted  to  tell  him,  but  I  wanted  more 
strongly  to  triumph  over  him.  The  rush  of 
tenderness  had  passed.  I  could  not  forget  the 
insult  of  his  tone  to  me,  the  jeering,  biting  con- 
tempt of  his  speeches.  I  longed  passionately  to 
bring  him  down  to  my  feet,  to  humble  him> 
and  then  —  to  raise  him  up.  Love  is  a  cruel 
sort  of  madness,  a  monster  perfectionist.  My 
love  for  him  could  not  forgive  his  blindness. 
He  ought  to  have  known,  he  ought  to  have 
seen  my  soul  too  clearly  to  be  so  easy  a  dupe, 
and  his  love  for  me  ought  to  have  driven  him 
shuddering  from  those  other  lips.  It  ought  to 
have  been  his  shield  and  weapon  of  defense, 
instead  of  his  lure. 

"I  have  nothing  to  confess,"  I  told  him 
coldly.  "Why  should  I  confess  to  you?  You 
have  come  to  this  house  to  persecute  and  to 
insult  me.  How  do  you  dare"  —  I  shook  with 


The  Red  Lady  131 

a  resurgent  rage  and  disgust  —  "to  speak  to 
me  of  —  kisses  ?  When  are  you  going  away 
from  this  house?  Or  must  I  go,  and  begin  to 
struggle  again,  to  hunt  for  work?  If  I  had  a 
brother  or  a  father  or  any  protector  strong 
enough  to  deal  with  the  sort  of  man  you  are,  I 
should  have  you  horse-w^hipped  for  your  con- 
duct to  me!  Oh,  I  could  strike  you  myself!  I 
hate  and  loathe  you!"  I  sobbed,  having  worked 
myseK  up  almost  to  the  frenzy  of  the  past 
night.  "I  want  to  punish  you!  You  have  hurt 
and  shamed  me!"  I  fought  for  seK-control. 
"Thank  God!  It  will  soon  be  over." 

I  stood  up,  and  tried  to  pass  him.  He  held 
out  his  arms  to  bar  me,  and,  looking  down  at 
me,  his  face  flushed  and  quivering,  he  said  be- 
tween his  teeth:  "When  it  is  over,  as  you  must 
know,  my  dear  Sphinx,  one  of  us  two  will  be 
dead.  I  am  not  the  first  man,  I  fancy,  that  you 
have  driven  to  madness  or  worse.  I  hope  I  shall 
have  the  strength  to  make  the  world  safe  from 
you  before  I  go.  That 's  what  I  live  for  now, 
though  you've  made  my  life  rather  more  of 
a  hell  than  even  I  ever  thought  life  could  be 
made." 

Our  eyes  met,  and  the  looks  crossed  like 
swords. 


132  The  Red  Lady 

"Let  me  go  out.  Your  faith  is  not  much 
greater  than  your  skill,  Master  Detective- 
Lover.  I  think  the  outcome  will  astonish  you. 
Let  me  go  out,  I  say." 

He  moved  away,  grim  and  pale,  his  jaws  set, 
and  I  went  out. 

On  my  way  to  my  room  Mary  met  me  m  the 
hall.  "I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  she  began ;  then 
broke  off,  "Oh,  Miss  Gale,  dear,  how  bad  you 
look!"  she  said. 

I  was  so  glad  to  see  her  dear,  honest,  trust- 
ing, truthful  face  that  I  put  my  head  down  on 
her  shoulder,  and  cried  like  a  baby  in  her  arms. 
She  made  me  go  to  my  room  and  lie  down,  she 
bathed  my  face  and  laid  a  cold,  wet  cloth  across 
my  temples. 

"Poor  blessed  girl!"  she  said  in  her  nursey 
way,  "she's  all  wore  out.  Poor  soul!  Poor 
pretty!"  A  dozen  such  absurd  and  comforting 
ejaculations  she  made  use  of,  how  comforting 
my  poor  motherless  youth  had  never  till  then 
let  me  know.  When  I  was  quieter  she  brought 
her  sewing  and  sat  beside  my  bed,  rocking  and 
humming.  She  asked  no  questions;  just  told 
me  when  I  tried  to  apologize  to  "hush  now  and 
try  to  get  a  little  nap."  And  actually  I  did  go 
to  sleep. 


The  Red  Lady  133 

I  woke  up  as  though  on  the  crest  of  a  re- 
surgent wave  of  Hfe.  I  sat  on  my  bed  and  smiled 
at  Mary;  then,  gathering  my  knees  in  my 
hands,  I  said,  "Now,  I'm  all  right  again,  nur- 
sey;  tell  me  what  you  wanted  to  ask  me  when 
you  met  me  in  the  hall." 

It  was  extraordinary  how  calm  and  clear  I 
felt,  how  sufficient  to  myself  and  able  to  meet 
what  was  coming  and  bring  it  to  a  triumphant 
end.  With  what  good  and  healing  spirits  do  we 
sometimes  walk  when  we  are  asleep. 

''Don't  hesitate,  dear  Mary.  I'm  done  with 
my  nonsense  now.  I'm  perfectly  able  to  face 
any  domestic  crisis,  from  ghosts  to  broken 
china." 

"Well,  ma'am,"  said  Mary,  beginning  to 
rock  in  an  indignant,  staccato  fashion  —  there 
are  as  many  ways  of  rocking  as  there  are  moods 
in  the  one  who  rocks  —  "it's  that  there  Sara. 
Never,  in  all  my  days  of  service  in  the  old 
country  and  here,  have  I  met  with  the  like  of 
her!" 

"In  what  way.^  I  mean,  what  is  she  like?" 

"Why,  ma'am,  she's  like  a  whited  sepul- 
cher"  —  this  time  she  pronounced  it  "sep- 
looker"  —  "that's  what  she's  like.  She's  as 
smooth  and  soft-spoken  as  a  pet  dove,  that 


134  The  Red  Lady 

she  is "  —  Mary's  similes  were  quite  extraor- 
dinary—  "she  fair  coos,  and  so  full  of  her 
'ma'ams'  and  *if  you  pleases.'  She's  a  good 
worker,  too,  steady  and  quiet,  too  quiet  to  be 
nacheral.  And,  indeed,  ma'am,  nacheral  it 
ain't,  not  for  her.  A  murderess  at  heart,  miss, 
that's  what  she  is." 

I  was  startled.  I  gripped  my  knees  more 
tightly. 

"Yes,  miss.  Up  to  this  mornin',  though  I 
can't  say  I  had  a  likin'  for  her,  for  that  would 
n't  be  the  truth,  and  I  always  hold  to  my 
mother's  sayin'  of  'tell  the  truth  and  shame 
the  devil';  but  this  mornin',  ma'am,  I  run  into 
her  quite  by  accident,  a-standin'  in  the  nur- 
sery —  and  what  she  should  be  doin'  in  my 
blessed  lamb's  room  I  can't  say,  and  a-cursin' 
and  a-swearin',  and  her  face  like  a  fury  —  O 
Lor',  miss !  I  can't  give  you  no  notion  of  what 
she  was  like,  nor  the  langwidge;  filth  it  was, 
ma'am,  though  I  should  n't  use  the  word.  And, 
miss,  I  made  sure  it  was  you  she  was  in  a  rage 
with,  a-stampin'  and  a-mouthin'  there  like  the 
foul  fiend.  She  did  n't  know  I  was  seein'  her 
first-off ,  but  when  she  did,  the  shameless  hussy 
went  on  as  bad  as  before.  Never  did  I  see  nor 
hear  the  like  of  it.  I  tried  to  shame  her,  but 


5> 


The  Red  Lady  135 

't  was  like  tryin'  to  shame  a  witch's  caldron, 
a-boilin'  with  cats'  tongues  and  vipers',  and 
dead  men's  hands.  Awful  it  was,  to  make  your 
blood  run  cold !  Miss  Gale,  you  had  n't  ought 
to  keep  the  creature  in  the  house.  It  ain't  safe. 
"  Could  you  find  out  why  she  was  so  angry  .^^ 
"Indeed,  ma'am,  there  was  so  much  cursin' 
and  sputterin'  that  I  could  n't  make  out  much 
sense  to  her,  but  it  was  somethin'  about  bein' 
made  a  mock  of  and  gettin'  nothin'  for  your 
pains.  She'd  been  glum  all  mornin',  miss,  I  seen 
that,  and  I'd  left  her  alone.  Her  and  Henry 
had  been  havin'  words  at  breakfast  time,  but 
this  was  fair  awful.  Seems  like  as  if  she  had  just 
kept  the  whole  rumpus  in  her  wickit  breast  till 
it  boiled  over  and  she  run  into  the  nursery  and 
let  it  go  off,  like  some  poison  bottle  with  the 
cork  blown  away,  if  you  know  what  I  mean. 
Miss,  it  ain't  safe  to  keep  her  in  the  house!" 
I  laughed  a  little. 

"No,  Mary,  I  don't  believe  it  is  very  safe." 
"Yes,  miss.  And  that's  not  all.  There  is 
doin's  I  don't  like  in  this  house,  and  I'd  have 
come  to  you  before,  but  it  seems  like  I  've  made 
you  so  much  trouble  in  this  place  and  you've 
been  lookin'  peaky  — " 

"You've  been  a  perfect   godsend   to   me, 


136  The  Red  Lady 

Mary!"  I  cried.  "Please  tell  me  anything, 
everything.  Never  hesitate  to  come  to  me. 
Never  delay  an  instant." 

"Well,  ma'am,  there's  two  or  three  things 
that  has  been  vexin'  me,  little  things  in  them- 
selves, but  not  reg'lar  —  now,  that 's  what  I 
say,  ma'am,  you  can  stand  anything  so  long 
as  it 's  reg'lar.  In  the  old  country  now,  as  I  told 
you,  I  worked  in  a  haunted  house,  and  the  help 
was  told  to  expect  a  ghost  and  it  come  reg'lar 
every  night  a-draggin'  its  chains  up  the  stairs ; 
but,  bless  me,  did  we  mind  it.^  Not  a  bit.  'T  was 
all  reg'lar  and  seemly,  if  you  know  what  I 
mean,  nothin'  that  you  could  n't  expect  and 
prepare  your  mind  for.  What  I  don't  like  about 
the  happenin's  here  is  they're  most  ir-reg'lar. 
There's  no  tellin'  whatever  where  they'll  break 
out  nor  how." 

This  typically  English  distinction  as  to  the 
desirable  regularity  of  apparitions  amused  me 
so  much  that  I  did  not  hurry  Mary  in  her  story. 
She  got  back  to  it  presently. 

"  Miss  Gale,  you  know  that  long,  gray  cloak 
of  yours  with  the  rose-silk  linin'.?" 

"Yes,  Mary."  My  heart  did  beat  a  trifle 
faster. 

And  the  little  hat  you  leave  with  the  cloak 


(( 


The  Red  Lady  137 

down  in  the  front  hall  on  the  rack  behind  the 
door?" 

"Yes,  Mary." 

"Well,  miss,"  —  the  rocking  grew  impres- 
sive, portentous,  climatic.  "Somebody  has 
been  usin'  'em  at  night." 

"Oh,  Mary!" 

"Yes,  miss.  And  it  must 'a'  been  that  Sara. 
Like  as  not  she  sneaks  off  and  meets  some  feller 
down  the  road,  or  even  over  to  Pine  Cone.  And 
her  a  married  woman!  Pleased  she'd  be  to  fix 
the  blame  of  her  bad  doin's  on  you.  What 
would  Mrs.  Brane  think,  miss,  if  she  seen  you, 
one  of  these  moonlight  nights  as  bright  as  day, 
a-walkin'  away  from  her  house  at  some  un- 
seemly hour.  Ir-reg'lar,  she'd  call  it!  Yes, 
miss.  It  makes  my  blood  boil!" 

"It  is  certainly  not  a  pleasant  idea,"  I  said 
dryly. 

"No,  miss;  to  put  it  mild,  not  pleasant,  not 
a  bit.  Well,  miss,  I  found  your  cloak  this  morn- 
in'  hangin'  in  its  place  and  the  hem  drenched 
with  dew.  You  can  see  for  yourself  if  you  go 
down  in  the  hall.  Now,  it  stands  to  reason,  if 
you'd  worn  it  yourself,  the  hem  would  n't  'a' 
touched  the  grass  hardly,  but  a  short  woman 
like  Sara  is  — " 


138  The  Red  Lady 

"Unless  I  had  sat  down  on  a  low  rustic 
bench,"  I  put  in. 

"Well,  miss,  was  you  out  last  night?" 

"  No,  Mary  —  unless  I  've  been  walking  in 
my  sleep." 

She  looked  a  little  startled,  and  stared  at  me 
with  round,  anxious  eyes  to  which  tears  came. 

"Oh,  miss,  I  don't  think  it.  Really  and  truly 
I  don't." 

She  had  not  seen  the  strand  of  red-gold  hair 
about  Robbie's  fingers  and  the  kind  soul  had 
diligently  weeded  out  any  suspicions  even  of 
my  unconscious  complicity  in  Robbie's  death. 

"  Nor  do  I,  Mary  dear.  In  fact,  I  was  broad 
awake  all  last  night.  I  never  closed  my  eyes. 
Perhaps  I  drank  too  much  coffee  after  dinner, 
or,  perhaps,  it  was  the  moon." 

"There  now!"  The  rocking  became  trium- 
phant. "That  proves  it.  Sara,  it  must  'a'  been." 

"What  else,  Mary.^  What  are  the  other  little 
things?" 

"Why,  ma'am,  it  seems  foolish  to  mention 
'em,  but  I  just  think  I  kinder  ought." 

"Indeed  you  ought,  Mary." 

"I  had  to  go  down  to  the  kitchen  late  last 
Friday  night.  Mrs.  Brane  could  n't  sleep,  and 
I  thought  I'd  give  her  a  glass  of  warm  milk 


The  Red  Lady  139 

same  as  I  ust  to  give  my  poor  lamb.  Well,  miss, 
I  found  the  kitchen  door  locked ;  the  one  at  the 
foot  of  the  back  stairs,  not  the  one  that  goes 
outdoors,  which  nacherly  would  be  fastened  at 
night.  The  key  was  n't  on  my  side  of  the  door, 
so  it  stands  to  reason  't  was  locked  on  the 
kitchen  side,  and  Sara  and  Henry  must  'a'  been 
in  that  kitchen,  though  it  was  dark,  not  a  glim- 
mer under  the  door  or  through  the  keyhole, 
and  not  a  sound  —  or  else  they  'd  gone  out  the 
back  way.  Why  should  Sara  lock  her  kitchen 
door  and  go  round  the  other  way.^  Don't  it 
seem  a  bit  odd  to  you,  ma'am?  And  when  I 
axed  her  the  next  mornin',  she  kinder  snarled 
like  and  told  me  to  mind  my  own  business,  that 
the  kitchen  door  was  her  affair,  and  that  if  I 
valued  my  soul  I  'd  best  keep  to  my  bed  nights 
in  this  house." 

We  were  silent  for  a  moment  while  I  digested 
this  sinister  injunction,  and  the  rocker  "regis- 
tered" the  indignation  of  a  respectable  Eng- 
lishwoman. 

"Anything  else,  Mary?"  I  asked  at  last. 

Mary  stopped  rocking.  She  folded  her  hands 
on  her  work  and  her  round  eyes  took  on  a 
doubting,  puzzled  look. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  One  other  thing.  And  maybe 


140  The  Red  Lady 

it  means  naught,  and,  maybe,  it  means  a  lot. 
Deviltry  it  must  be  of  some  kind,  I  says,  or 
else  mere  foolishness."  She  paused,  and  I  saw 
her  face  pucker  tearfully.  "You  know  how  I 
did  love  that  pitiful  little  Robbie,  miss.^" 

"Yes,  Mary  dear." 

"  Well,  times  when  I  feel  like  my  heart  would 
bust  out  with  grievin',  I  go  off  and  away  by 
myself  somewhere  and  kinder  mourn." 

"Yes,  you  dear,  faithful  soul!" 

"And  I'm  like  to  choose  some  spot  that 
'minds  me  of  mj^  lamb." 
les. 

"Well,  't  was  only  this  mornin'  that  I  woke 
up  and  missed  him  out  of  common,  so  sweet 
he  was  when  he  waked  up,  and  cheery  as  a 
robin !  So,  't  was  early,  early  mornin',  the  sun 
just  up,  and  I  crep'  out  quiet  and  went  out  to 
the  garden  and  sat  down  in  the  arbor  where  I 
ust  to  sit  and  watch  the  little  darlin'  at  his 
play  —  well,  miss,  I  have  to  tell  you  that  I  sat 
there  cryin'  like  a  baby,  and  't  was  a  while  be- 
fore I  seen  that  there  lay  a  paper  under  the 
bench,  like  as  if  it  might  have  fallen  there  from 
a  body's  pocket.  I  picked  it  up,  and  't  was  cov- 
ered with  heathenish  writin'.  Here.  I  kep'  it 
in  my  apron  to  show  you,  miss." 


The  Red  Lady  141 

She  took  the  paper  from  her  pocket,  and  I 
sprang  up  and  seized  it  eagerly.  I  had  no  doubt 
whatever  that  it  had  been  lost  by  my  double 
as  she  sat  with  Paul  last  night.  It  was  a  letter 
in  the  Russian  script.  I  read  it  rapidly. 

"Ever  dear  and  honored  madame,  I  await 
the  summons  of  your  necessity.  A  message  re- 
ceived here"  —  there  followed  a  name  and 
address  of  some  town  in  the  county,  unknown 
to  me  —  "will  bring  me  to  Pine  Cone  in  a  few 
hours  by  motor-cycle.  I  hold  myself  at  your 
commands,  and  will  lend  you  the  service  of 
my  knowledge  in  translating  the  Slavonic  cu- 
riosity you  have  described  to  me  so  movingly. 
I  need  not  remind  you  of  your  promises. 
One  knows  that  they  are  never  broken,  even 
to  death.  Appoint  a  place  and  hour.  Meet  me 
or  send  some  accredited  messenger.  It  could 
all  be  arranged  between  sunrise  and  sunset  or 
—  should  you  prefer  —  between  sunset  and 
sunrise.  Do  not  forget  your  faithful  servant, 
and  the  servant  of  that  Eternal  Eye  that 
watches  the  good  and  evil  of  this  earthly  life." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  SPIDER  BITES 

I  WAS  SO  excited  by  the  importance  of 
Mary's  accidental  discovery  that  I  folded 
up  the  paper,  thrust  it  into  my  pocket,  and 
was  turning  towards  the  desk,  when  Mary,  in 
an  aggrieved  voice,  recalled  herself  to  my  at- 
tention. 

**Well,  miss,  maybe  it  ain't  my  business, 
and,  maybe,  it  is,  and  I  don't  want  to  push 
myself  forward,  but  — " 

*'0h,  Mary,"  I  said,  "indeed  it  is  your 
business,  and  a  very  important  business,  too, 
and  just  as  soon  as  I  think  it  safe  to  tell 
you,  I  will,  every  word  of  it;  only  I  have  to 
ask  you  to  trust  me  just  a  little  bit  further, 
and  to  let  me  make  use  of  this  paper.  You 
don't  imagine  how  terribly  important  it  is  to 
me! 

I  could  see  that  Mary  was  shocked  by  my 
uncanny  knowledge.  "Indeed,  Miss  Gale,  if 
you  can  make  anything  out  of  that  heathen 
writin'  —  " 

I  smiled  as  reassuringly  as  I  could.  "It  is 


The  Red  Lady  143 

not  heathenish.  It  is  Russian,  and  it  was  writ- 
ten by  a  sort  of  clergyman." 

*'0h,  miss!  And  under  the  rustic  bench  in 
our  arbor!" 

"Yes,  Mary.  I  know  it  all  sounds  as  wild  as 
a  dream,  and  I  can't  explain  it  just  yet,  but 
you  will  trust  me,  Mary,  a  little  longer,  and 
keep  the  secret  of  this  paper  to  yourself.^  Don't 
mention  it;  don't  even  whisper  of  it;  don't  show 
that  you  have  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  — 
everything  depends  upon  this." 

Mary  had  stood  up,  and  now  smoothed  down 
her  apron  and  drew  in  a  doubtful,  whistling 
breath  which  she  presently  expelled  in  sharp, 
little  tongue-clicks  —  "Tcks!  Tcks!  Tcks!"  I 
translated  all  this  readily.  She  did  not  like  my 
superior  and  secret  knowledge;  she  did  not 
like  my  air  of  cool  captaincy;  she  did  not  like 
my  reserve,  nor  my  disposal  of  her  "devil- 
paper."  But  the  good  soul  could  not  help  but 
be  loyalty  itself.  She  made  no  more  protest 
than  that  of  the  "Tcks!"  — then  said,  in  a 
rather  sad  but  perfectly  dependable  voice, 
"Very  good,  miss." 

I  came  over  and  patted  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"Mary,  you  are  the  best  woman  in  the  world 
and  the  best  friend  I  ever  had." 


144  The  Red  Lady 

This  brought  her  around  completely.  Her 
natural,  honest,  kindly  smile  broke  out  upon 
her  face. 

"Bless  you,  miss,"  she  said  heartily,  ''I'd 
do  most  anything  for  you.  You  can  trust  me 
not  to  speak  of  the  paper." 

"I  know  I  can,  Mary  dear." 

When  she  had  gone  I  did  go  over  to  my  desk 
and  took  out  a  slip  of  paper.  After  some  care- 
ful thinking  I  printed  in  ink  a  few  lines  in 
Russian  script. 

"At  eleven  o'clock  of  next  Wednesday  morn- 
ing I  will  meet  you  in  the  ice-cream  parlor  of 
the  only  drug-store  in  Pine  Cone.  Be  prepared 
to  translate  the  Slavonic  curiosity,  and  be  as- 
sured of  a  reward."  I  dared  not  risk  any  sig- 
nature, but,  for  fear  there  might  be  something 
in  these  lines  that  would  rouse  the  suspicion 
of  their  authenticity,  I  racked  my  brain  for 
some  signal  that  might  be  a  convincing  one. 
At  last  I  pulled  out  a  red-gold  hair  from  my 
head,  placed  it  on  the  paper  as  though  it  had 
fallen  there,  and  folded  it  in.  Then  I  put  my 
paper  into  a  blank  envelope,  which  I  sealed 
and  secreted  in  my  dress.  This  done,  I  tore  the 
letter  Mary  had  found  into  a  hundred  minute 
pieces  and  burned  them,  hiding  the  ashes  in 


The  Red  Lady  145 

my  window-box  of  flowers.  I  had  memorized 
the  address  and  name  of  Mr.  Gast. 

At  Umch  I  asked  Mrs.  Brane,  who  had  suf- 
ficiently recovered  from  her  headache  to  ap- 
pear, whether  she  would  n't  like  me  to  go  over 
to  Pine  Cone  and  buy  her  the  shade  hat  for 
which  she  had  been  longing  ever  since  Mary 
had  reported  the  arrival  of  some  Philippine 
millinery  in  the  principal  shop.  I  said  that  I 
felt  the  need  of  a  good,  long  walk. 

Henry,  without  a  flicker  of  interest  in  my  re- 
quest, went  on  with  perfect  and  discreet  per- 
formance of  table-duty,  but  I  felt  that  he  was 
mentally  pricking  up  his  ears.  He  must  have 
wondered  what  the  purpose  of  my  expedition 
really  was.  I  hoped  that,  if  any  rumor  of  it 
reached  the  ears  of  my  double,  she  would  take 
the  precaution  of  keeping  close  in  her  myste- 
rious hiding-place  during  my  absence.  It  was 
absurd  how  I  felt  responsible  for  the  life  of 
every  member  of  the  household.  Paul  Dabney 
did  not  ask  to  accompany  me  on  my  walk, 
though  Mrs.  Brane  evidently  expected  him 
to.  He  was  absent  and  silent  at  limch,  crum- 
bled his  bread,  and  wore  his  air  of  demure 
detachment  like  a  shield.  He  was  as  white 
as   the  table   napery,  but   had  a  cool,  self- 


146  The  Red  Lady 

reliant  expression  that  for  some  reason  an- 
noyed me. 

I  started  on  my  long  and  lonely  walk  about 
half  an  hour  after  lunch.  I  was  nervous  and 
fearful,  and  wished  that  I,  too,  had  a  pocket 
such  as  Paul  Dabney's  bulging  one  where,  so 
often,  I  fancied  he  kept  his  right  hand  on  the 
smooth  handle  of  an  automatic.  I  thought 
scornfully  of  his  timidity.  My  own  danger 
was  so  enormously  greater  than  his,  and  his 
own  was  so  enormously  greater  than  he  could 
possibly  suspect. 

I  must  confess,  however,  that  it  taxed  my 
nerve  severely  to  cross  the  bridge  over  the 
quicksand  that  afternoon.  It  had  been  mended, 
of  course,  the  very  evening  of  Paul's  accident 
but  I  tested  every  plank  before  I  gave  it  my 
weight,  and  I  clung  to  the  railing  with  both 
clammy  hands.  Not  until  I  reached  the  other 
bank  did  I  let  the  breath  out  of  my  lungs. 

On  the  dusty,  shady  highroad  courage  re- 
turned to  me,  and  I  walked  ahead  at  a  good 
pace.  I  did  want  very  strongly  to  reach  that 
bridge  again  before  dark.  I  would  not  trust 
my  letter  to  the  rural  delivery  box  near  "The 
Pines"  lane.  I  was  determined  to  mail  it  at 
the  post-office,  and  to  be  sure  that  it  went  out 


The  Red  Lady  147 

by  the  evening  mail.  I  was  successful,  addressed 
the  blank  envelope,  and  slipped  it  in,  bought 
Mrs.  Brane's  hat,  and,  hurrying  home,  found 
myself  in  time  for  five  o'clock  tea.  I  had  met 
v/ith  no  misadventure  of  any  kind;  not  even  a 
shadow  had  fallen  on  my  path;  but  I  was  as 
tired  as  though  I  had  been  through  every  terror 
that  had  tormented  my  imagination.  I  went 
to  bed  that  night  and  slept  well. 

The  four  days  that  followed  the  mailing  of 
my  letter  were  as  still  as  the  proverbial  lull 
before  the  storm.  We  all  went  quietly  about 
our  lives.  Wliatever  mutiny  was  hidden  in 
the  souls  of  Henry  and  his  female  accomplice 
smouldered  there  without  explosion.  Sara,  in- 
deed, was  sullen,  and  obeyed  my  orders  with 
an  air  of  resentment.  Paul  Dabney  seemed  to 
be  immersed  in  study.  It  looked  to  me  some- 
times as  though  every  one  in  the  house  was 
waiting,  as  breathlessly  and  secretly  as  I  was, 
for  the  meeting  with  that  unknown  Servant  of 
the  Eternal  Eye.  Certainly  it  was  curious  that 
on  the  very  Wednesday  morning  Mrs.  Brane 
should  have  decided  to  send  Gregory,  the  old 
horse,  to  Pine  Cone,  for  a  new  pair  of  shoes, 
and  that  she  should  herself  have  suggested  my 
going  with  George  for  a  little  outing.  Her  face 


148  The  Red  Lady 

was  perfectly  innocent,  but  I  could  not  refrain 
from  asking  her,  "What  made  you  think  of 
sending  me,  Mrs.  Brane?" 

She  gave  me  a  knowing,  teasing  little  look. 
"Somebody  takes  a  great  interest  in  your 
health,  proud  Maisie,"  she  said. 

Paul  Dabney!  I  was  not  a  little  startled  by 
the  opportuneness  of  his  interest.  It  was,  to 
say  the  least,  a  trifle  odd  that  he  should  want 
me  to  drive  to  Pine  Cone  on  the  very  morning 
of  my  appointment.  I  was  half  minded  to  re- 
fuse to  drive  with  George,  then  decided  that 
this  refusal  would  only  serve  to  point  any  sus- 
picion that  Paul  Dabney  might  be  entertain- 
ing of  me,  so  I  agreed  meekly  to  the  arrange- 
ment and  set  off  in  due  time  seated  in  the 
brake-cart  by  George's  substantial  side.  He 
was  undoubtedly  a  comfort  to  me,  and  I  kept 
him  chattering  all  the  way.  He  had  lost  the  air 
of  bravado  he  had  shown  on  our  first  drive 
together,  for  ''The  Pines"  had  been,  to  all 
appearances,  a  place  of  supreme  tranquillity 
since  Robbie's  death.  His  talk  was  all  of  the 
country-side,  a  string  of  complaints.  The  roads 
needed  mending,  the  fences  were  down,  "gov- 
e'nment  don't  do  nothin'  fer  this  yere  po' 
place."  He  pointed  out  a  tall,  ragged,  dead 


The  Red  Lady  149 

pine  near  a  turn  in  the  road,  I  remember,  and 
groaned,  "Jes  a  tech  to  send  that  tree  plum 
oveh  yeah  on  the  top  of  us-all,  missy."  This 
complaint  was  one  of  a  hundred  and  stuck  in 
my  mind  because  of  later  happenings. 

We  jogged  into  Pine  Cone  at  eleven,  and  I 
occupied  myself  variously  till  the  hour  of  the 
appointment,  when,  with  a  sickish  feeling  of 
nervous  suspense,  I  forced  my  steps  towards 
the  drug-store.  I  went  in  through  the  fly- 
screen  door,  and  passed  the  soda-water  foun- 
tain and  the  counters  where  stale  candy  and 
coarse  calicoes  beckoned  for  a  purchaser,  and 
I  went  on  between  green  rep,  tasseled  por- 
tieres to  the  damp,  dark,  inner  room  where  the 
marble-topped  tables,  vacant  of  food,  seemed 
to  attract,  by  some  mysterious  promise,  a 
swarm  of  dull  and  sluggish  flies  whose  mourn- 
ful buzzing  filled  the  stagnant  air. 

There  was  one  person  in  the  ice-cream  par- 
lor —  a  man.  I  moved  doubtfully  towards  him, 
and  he  lifted  his  head.  This  head  was  a  replica 
of  the  pre-Raphaelite  figures  of  Christ,  a  long, 
oval,  high-browed  countenance,  with  smooth, 
long,  yellow  hair  parted  in  the  middle  of  the 
brow,  with  oblong  eyes,  a  long  nose,  a  mouth 
drooping  exaggeratedly  at  the  corners,  and  a 


150  The  Red  Lady 

very  long,  silky,  yellow  beard,  also  parted  in 
the  middle  and  hanging  in  two  rippling  points 
almost  to  his  waist.  He  was  dressed  in  a  rusty 
black  suit,  the  very  long  sleeves  of  which  hung 
down  quite  over  his  hands. 

At  sight  of  me  he  turned  pale,  rose,  the  dol- 
orous mouth  drooping  more  extremely.  ''Ma- 
dame," he  said  in  the  lisping,  clumsy  speech 
of  those  whose  supply  of  teeth  falls  short  of 
lingual  demands,  '*is  as  prompt  as  the  jus- 
tice of  Heaven."  And  he  bowed  and  cringed 
painfully. 

I  sat  down  opposite  to  him,  and  gave  the 
languid,  pimply-faced  youth  who  came  an 
order  for  two  plates  of  ice-cream.  I  was  hor- 
ribly embarrassed  and  confused,  but  by  a 
mighty  effort  I  maintained  an  air  of  self-pos- 
session. The  priest  —  I  should  have  known 
him  for  a  renegade  priest  anywhere  —  sat 
meekly  with  his  hidden  hands  resting  on  the 
table  before  him,  and  his  great,  smooth  lids 
pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  Once  he  looked  up 
for  an  instant. 

"Madame  preserves  her  youth,"  he  lisped, 
"as  though  she  had  lived  upon  the  blood  of 
babes."  And  he  ran  the  tip  of  his  tongue  over 
his  lips. 


The  Red  Lady  151 

This  horrible  speech  was,  no  doubt,  exactly 
suited  to  the  taste  of  my  counterpart.  I  knew 
that  I  was  expected  to  laugh,  and  I  dragged  my 
lips  across  my  teeth  in  imitation  of  the  ghastly 
smile.  It  passed  muster. 

He  fell  upon  his  ice-cream,  when  it  was 
brought  to  him,  like  a  starved  creature,  and 
then  I  noticed  the  horrible  deformity  of  his 
hands.  He  hooked  a  twisted  stump  about  the 
handle  of  his  spoon.  Nearly  all  the  fingers  were 
gone;  what  was  left  were  mere  torn  fragments 
of  bone  and  tendon.  His  hands  must  have  been 
horribly  crushed,  the  top  part  of  the  hands 
crushed  off  entirely.  It  made  me  sick  to  look 
at  them. 

I  produced  my  chart,  and  passed  it  over  to 
him.  He  paused  in  his  repast,  wiped  off  his  lips 
and  beard,  took  out  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  from 
one  of  his  ragged  pockets,  and  translated  with 
great  rapidity,  scribbling  down  the  lines  with 
a  stump  of  a  pencil  about  which  he  wrapped 
his  crooked  index  stump  very  cleverly.  He 
grew  quite  hot  with  excitement  as  he  wrote; 
his  enormous  forehead  turned  pink.  He  smacked 
his  lips:  ^''Nu,  madame,  Boje  moe,  what  a  re- 
ward for  your  great,  your  excellent  courage!" 

He  handed  back  both  pages  to  me,  and 


152  The  Red  Lady 

began  on  his  ice-cream  again.  I  took  the  trans- 
lation and  read  it  eagerly. 

"The  crown  alone  is  worth  every  risk,  al- 
most every  crime.  Each  jewel  is  a  fortune  to 
dream  about.  The  robe  is  encrusted  with  the 
wealth  of  magic.  If  each  stone  is  taken  out 
and  offered  cautiously  for  sale  at  different  and 
widely  separated  places,  the  danger  of  detec- 
tion would  now  be  very  slight.  You  will  have 
at  each  sale  the  dowry  of  a  queen.  And  all  of 
this  splendor  is  hidden  in  the  wall.  There  are  two 
ways  of  reaching  it.  The  easier  is  through  the 
hole  in  the  kitchen  closet,  the  closet  mider  the 
stairs.  These  are  directions,  easy  to  remember 
and  easier  to  follow :  Go  up  the  sixteen  steps,  go 
along  the  passage  to  the  inclined  plane.  Ascend 
the  inclined  plane.  Count  five  rafters  from  the 
first  perpendicular  rafter  from  the  top  of  the 
plane  on  your  left  side.  The  fifth  rafter,  if 
strongly  moved,  pulls  forward.  Behind  it,  on 
end,  stands  the  iron  box.  The  key  is  hidden 
back  of  the  eighteenth  brick  to  the  left  of  the 
fifth  rafter  on  the  row  which  is  the  thirtieth 
from  the  floor  of  the  passage.  Have  courage, 
have  self-control,  have  always  a  watchful  eye 
for  Her.  She  knows." 

This  was  not  signed.  Now,  I  did  a  careful 


The  Red  Lady  153 

thing.  I  read  this  translation  over  five  or  six 
times.  And  then  I  memorized  the  directions. 
Sixteen  steps  up,  ascend  the  inchned  plane, 
five  rafters  from  the  one  on  your  left  at  the  top 
of  the  plane,  the  eighteenth  brick  to  the  left  of 
the  fifth  rafter  in  the  thirtieth  row.  And  then 
I  repeated  ''sixteen,  five,  eighteen,  thirty," 
till  they  made  an  unforgettable  jingle  in  my 
brain. 

"You  will  not  forget  me,  madame.f*"  mur- 
mured the  priest,  this  time  in  Russian.  "Ma- 
dame ruined  me,  and  madame  will  lift  me  up." 

I  lifted  my  eyes  from  the  paper  and  smiled 
that  horrible  smile. 

"I  will  not  forget  you,"  I  said  in  the  same 
tongue.  "You  will  still  be  at  the  address.^^" 

"Until  you  advise  me  to  change  it,"  he  said 
cringingly. 

"Excellent.  Do  svedania." 

He  stood  up  and  blessed  me.  I  bent  my  head, 
and  he  stalked  out,  his  long,  light  hair  flapping 
against  his  shoulders  as  he  walked.  The  clerks 
at  the  drug-store  counter  gaped  and  tittered  at 
him.  I  followed  him  to  the  door.  There  he  made 
me  another  bow,  smiled  a  big,  toothless  smile, 
mounted  his  motor-cycle,  and  went  off  at  a  tre- 
mendous speed,  his  deformed  hands  hooked 


154  The  Red  Lady 

over  the  bars,  the  wind  of  his  own  motion  send- 
ing the  long  points  of  his  beard  flying  behind 
him  Hke  pennons. 

A  few  moments  after  his  departure  another 
man  came  out  of  the  saloon  opposite,  walked 
quickly  to  another  motor-cycle,  mounted  it, 
and  went  humming  after  the  cloud  of  dust  that 
hid  my  mysterious  translator. 

It  was  odd  that  sleepy  Pine  Cone  should  at 
the  same  time  entertain  two  such  travelers  on 
this  vehicle;  it  was  even  more  odd  that  the  sec- 
ond traveler  bore  so  extraordinary  a  likeness 
to  one  of  Mrs.  Brane's  outdoor  men,  those 
whom  she  had  described  to  me  as  her  pet 
charity. 

I  might  have  followed  this  train  of  thought 
to  its  logical  conclusion,  I  might  even  have  re- 
membered that  one  of  these  same  men  had 
followed  the  Baron's  departure  from  *'The 
Pines,"  had  I  not,  at  the  moment,  glanced  in 
the  opposite  direction  and  seen,  far  along  the 
wide,  dusty  highway,  the  departing  brake-cart 
with  George's  fat  person  perched  upon  its  seat. 
I  was  possessed  by  indignation.  He  was  ac- 
tually leaving  Pine  Cone  without  me.  He  was 
already  too  far  away  to  hear  my  angry  shout 
even  if  he  had  not  been  deaf.  As  I  watched 


The  Red  Lady  155 

helplessly,  Gregory  reached  the  top  of  the  hill, 
deliberately  passed  it,  and  pulled  the  brake- 
cart,  dilapidated  whip,  fat  George,  and  all,  out 
of  my  sight.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  a 
walk  home.  I  got  a  wretched  lunch  in  the  ice- 
cream parlor,  and  set  out  in  no  very  good  hu- 
mor. As  soon  as  I  was  out  of  sight  of  the  town, 
I  took  out  my  translation  of  the  chart,  re- 
freshed my  memory  for  the  last  time,  tore  it 
into  a  thousand  tiny  bits,  and  buried  the  shreds 
deep  in  the  sandy  soil  of  the  roadside.  I  kept 
the  original  Slavonic  writing  in  the  bosom  of 
my  dress.  I  meant  in  my  own  good  time  to  let 
this  paper  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  thieves,  and 
so,  having  notified  the  police,  to  catch  them  in 
the  very  hiding-place. 

I  stepped  along  rapidly.  It  was  now  past 
noon,  a  mild  November  day  of  Indian  summer 
warmth  and  softness;  the  pines  swung  their 
fragrant  branches  against  the  sky.  It  was  very 
still  and  pleasant  on  the  woody  road.  I  was 
really  glad  that  George  had  forgotten  me.  As 
I  came  round  one  of  the  pretty  turns  of  the 
road  I  heard  a  great,  groaning  rush  of  sound, 
and,  hurrying  my  steps,  found  that  the  great 
dead  pine  George  had  pointed  out  to  me  had, 
indeed,  true  to  his  prophecy,  fallen  across  the 


156  The  Red  Lady 

road.  It  was  a  great,  ragged  giant  of  a  tree,  and 
as  the  bank  on  one  side  of  the  road  was.  steep 
and  high,  I  was  forced  to  go  well  into  the  woods 
on  the  other,  and  to  circle  about  the  enormous 
root  which  stood  up  like  a  wall  between  me 
-and  the  road.  Back  of  the  tree  I  stepped  down 
into  a  hollow,  and,  as  I  stepped,  looking  care- 
fully to  my  footing,  for  the  gi^ound  was  very 
rough,  a  heavy  smother  of  cloth  fell  over  my 
head  and  shoulders,  and  I  was  thrown  violently 
backward  to  the  ground.  At  the  same  instant 
the  stuff  was  pulled  tight  across  my  mouth. 
I  could  hardly  breathe,  much  less  cry  out.  I 
was  half  suffocated  and  blind  as  a  mole.  My 
arms  were  seized,  and  drawn  back  of  me  and 
tied  at  the  wrists.  The  hands  that  did  this  were 
fine  and  cold,  and  strong  as  steel.  They  were  a 
woman's  hands,  and  I  could  feel  the  brush  of 
skirts.  It  froze  my  blood  to  know  that  I  was 
being  handled  and  trussed  up  by  a  pitiless 
image  of  myself. 

Having  made  me  entirely  blind,  dumb,  and 
helpless  as  a  log,  the  creature  proceeded  to 
search  me  with  the  most  intolerable  thorough- 
ness. Of  course,  the  paper  I  had  taken  from  the 
bookcase  was  promptly  found,  and  I  heard  a 
little  gasp  of  satisfaction,  followed  by  a  low 


The  Red  Lady  157 

oath  when  she  discovered  the  nature  of  the 
script.  She  was  no  doubt  furious  at  not  being 
able  to  find  any  translation.  I  was  roughly- 
handled,  dragged  about  on  the  stony  ground, 
tossed  this  way  and  that,  while  the  cold,  hur- 
ried, clever  fingers  thrust  themselves  through 
my  clothing.  At  last  they  fairly  stripped  me, 
every  article  was  shaken  out  or  torn  apart,  a 
knife  cut  off  the  top  of  my  head-covering,  leav- 
ing my  face  in  its  tight  smother,  my  hair  was 
taken  down,  shaken  out,  combed  with  hasty 
and  painful  claws.  When,  after  a  horrible  life- 
time of  fear  and  disgust,  anger  and  pain,  the 
thing  that  handled  me  discovered  that  there 
was  really  nothing  further  of  any  value  to  her 
upon  me,  she  gave  way  to  a  fury  of  disappoint- 
ment. There,  in  the  still  woods,  she  cursed  with 
disgusting  oaths,  she  beat  me  with  her  hands, 
with  branches  she  found  near  me  on  the 
ground. 

"Discipline,"  she  said,  "discipline,  and  be 
thankful,  my  girl,  that  I  don't  do  you  a  worse 
injury.  I  can't  stand  being  angry  unless  I  make 
somebody  squirm  for  it.  Besides,  I  mean  you 
to  lie  quiet  for  a  day  or  two,  till  I  need  you 
again." 

I  did  squirm,  and  she  showed  no  mercy. 


158  The  Red  Lady 

Nevertheless,  she  began  to  be  afraid,  I  suppose, 
of  being  discovered  at  her  cruelty.  She  threw 
my  clothes  over  me,  laughed  at  my  plight,  and 
I  heard  her  light  footsteps  going  away  from  me 
into  the  woods. 

I  lay  there,  raging,  sobbing,  struggling,  till 
long  after  dusk,  then,  my  hands  becoming 
gradually  loosened,  I  wriggled  one  hand  free, 
tore  the  rope  from  the  other,  rid  myself  of  the 
sacking  on  my  head  and  sat  up,  panting, 
trembling,  exhausted,  bathed  in  sweat.  Slowly 
I  got  into  my  clothes  and  smoothed  my  torn 
hair,  crying  with  the  pain  of  my  hurts.  It  had 
been  an  orgy  of  rage  and  cruelty,  and  I  had 
been,  God  knows,  a  helpless  victim.  Neverthe- 
less, the  discipline  inflicted  upon  me  did  not 
break  my  spirit.  I  was  lashed  and  stung  to  a 
cold  rage  of  hatred  and  disgust.  I  would  outwit 
the  creature,  hunt  her  down,  and  give  her  to 
justice  so  that  she  might  suffer  for  her  sins.  I 
could  not  well  understand  the  furious  boldness 
of  her  action  of  this  afternoon.  Why  did  she 
leave  me  to  make  my  escape,  to  go  back  to 
"  The  Pines,"  to  tell  my  story  and  so  to  set  the 
police  on  hertrack.^  For  some  reason  she  must 
rely  on  my  holding  my  tongue.  As  I  stumbled 
on  my  painful  way,  the  reason  came  to  me 


The  Red  Lady  159 

with  some  certainty.  She  thought  that  I,  too, 
meant  to  steal  the  fortune.  It  would  not  enter 
the  head  of  a  criminal  that  such  a  temptation 
could  be  resisted  by  a  penniless  girl  of  my  his- 
tory. And,  indeed,  what  other  explanation 
could  she  possibly  entertain  for  my  previous 
secret iveness.^  Naturally,  she  could  not  under- 
stand my  desire  to  triumph  over  Paul  Dabney. 
And  this  desire  was  as  strong  in  me  as  ever  it 
had  been.  Indeed,  I  felt  that  in  a  certain  way 
the  events  of  the  afternoon  left  me  with  slight 
advantage  over  my  double.  It  was  now  a  race 
between  us.  She  knew  that  I  was  on  the  track 
of  the  treasure;  she  knew  that  I  knew  of  her 
intentions.  I  had  the  translation;  she  had  not. 
She  would  have  it  soon  enough,  I  was  sure; 
therefore  I  must  be  quick.  No  later  than  that 
night,  or,  at  farthest,  the  following  night,  while 
she  still  fancied  me  laid  up  by  the  beating  I 
had  received,  I  must  contrive  to  get  at  Mrs. 
Brane's  fortune.  Dreadful  as  my  experience 
had  been,  I  was  still  bent  upon  the  success  of 
my  venture;  truly  I  believe  I  was  more  bent 
upon  it. 

If  I  failed  now,  there  was  no  knowing  what 
consequences  might  fall  upon  ''The  Pines" 
household  and  upon  me.  Very  easily  —  I  trem- 


160  The  Red  Lady 

bled  to  think  how  easily  —  some  member  of 
the  fam.ily  might  be  murdered  and  I  be  made 
to  appear  the  murderess.  I  had,  by  my  bold 
course,  provided  blind  justice  with  a  half-dozen 
w^itnesses  against  my  innocence.  The  Baron, 
the  priest,  Sara,  Henry,  Paul  Dabney  —  not 
one  of  them  but  could  stand  up  and  swear  to  my 
criminality,  perhaps  to  a  score  of  past  crimes. 

As  I  limped  and  stumbled  home,  wiping  the 
tears  from  my  eyes  and  the  blood  from  my 
chafed  face,  I  decided  to  keep  the  truth  of  my 
adventure  to  myself.  An  accident  of  some  kind 
I  must  invent  to  explain  my  plight.  I  decided 
that  the  fallen  pine  would  have  to  bear  the 
blame  for  my  cuts  and  bruises.  I  would  say 
that  I  had  been  caught  by  the  slashing  outer 
branches  as  it  fell. 

Before  I  reached  the  gatew^ay  of  ''The 
Pines,"  in  fact,  just  as  I  was  dragging  myself 
up  the  steep  slope  from  the  sw^amp,  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp  of  light  came  dancing  to  meet  me.  The 
circle  of  its  glow  presently  made  visible  the  un- 
mistakable flat  feet  of  George,  who,  at  sight  of 
me,  broke  into  a  chant  of  relief  and  of  reproach. 

He  set  down  his  lamp  before  me  and  held  up 
his  hands. 

"  My  lordamassy,  Miss  Gale,  what  fo'  yo' 


The  Red  Lady  161 

put  dis  yere  po'  ole  nigger  in  sech  a  wo'ld  o* 
mis'ry?  Here  am  Massa  Dabney  a-tarin'  up 
de  groun'  all  aroun'  about  me  an'  a-callin'  me 
names  coz  I  done  obey  yo'  instid  o'  him.  An' 
he  done  gib  me  one  dolleh,  yessa,  an'  yo'-all 
done  gib  me  two.  I  tole  him  de  trufe.  Yessa,  I 
says,  one  dolleh  done  tuk  me  to  Pine  Cone 
an'  two  dollehs  done  bring  me  back." 

I  pushed  my  hair  from  my  tired  forehead. 
"You  mean  I  told  you  to  drive  home  without 
me,  George?" 

George  danced  a  nigger  dance  of  despair  — 
a  sort  of  cake-walk,  grotesque  and  laughable  in 
the  circle  of  lantern-light. 

"Oh,  lawsamassy,  don'  nobody  'member 
nothin'  they  done  say  to  a  po'  ole  niggerman 
like  George?  Yo'  come  out,  miss,  while  I  was 
a-harnessin'  Gregory,  an'  yo'  gib  de  dollehs  an' 
yo'  say,  *Be  sho  to  drive  away  back  to  de  house 
af  tell  Gregory  got  his  new  shoes  without  waitin' 
fer  me.'  Yo'  say  yo'  like  de  walk.  There,  now! 
Yo'-all  do  commence  to  begin  to  recollec',  don' 
yo'?" 

"Yes,  yes.  I  do,  of  course,  George,"  I  agreed 
faintly  —  what  use  to  disclaim  this  minor  ac- 
tion of  my  double?  "  Give  me  your  arm,  there 's 
a  good  fellow.  I've  been  hurt." 


162  The  Red  Lady 

He  was  as  tender  as  a  "mammy,"  all  but  car- 
ried me  up  to  the  house  and  handed  me  over  to 
Paul  Dabney,  who  was  pacing  the  hall  like  a 
caged  tiger,  and  who  received  me  with  a  fever- 
ish eagerness,  rather  like  the  pounce  of  a  watch- 
ful beast  of  prey.  I  told  my  story  —  or,  rather, 
my  fabrication  —  to  him  and  Mrs.  Brane  and 
Mary.  Paul  did  not  join  in  the  ejaculation  of 
sympathy  and  affection;  he  tried  to  be  stoically 
cynical  even  in  the  face  of  my  quite  apparent 
weakness  and  pain,  but  I  thought  his  eyes  and 
mouth  corners  rather  betrayed  his  self-control, 
and  he  helped  me  carefully,  with  a  sort  of  re- 
strained passion,  up  to  my  room,  where  I  re- 
fused poor  Mary's  offers  of  help  and  ministered 
to  myself  as  best  I  could. 

I  was  really  in  a  pitiful  condition;  the  beat- 
ing had  been  delivered  with  the  intention  of  lay- 
ing me  up,  and  I  began  to  think  that  it  would 
be  successful.  I  don't  mind  admitting  that  I 
cried  myself  to  sleep  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IMY  FIRST  MO^^ 

THE  woman  who  had  so  unmercifully  used 
me  had  not  taken  into  account  the  fact 
that  the  spirit  is  stronger  than  the  flesh.  Cer- 
tainly, the  next  morning  I  wanted  nothing  so 
much  as  to  lie  still  in  my  bed  for  a  week.  My 
cuts  and  bruises  vvere  stiff  and  sore;  I  ached 
from  head  to  foot.  But  my  resolution  was 
strong.  I  had  my  meals  sent  up  to  me  that  day, 
however,  but  in  the  evening,  after  dinner,  I 
sent  for  Sara. 

She  came  and  presented  herself,  sullen  and 
impassive,  at  the  foot  of  my  bed.  I  fixed  my 
eyes  on  her  as  coldly  and  malevolently  as  I 
could. 

*'Sara,"  I  said,  "as  you  see,  I  chose  to  be 
laid  up  to-day." 

She  grinned. 

"Now,  without  a  moment's  delay  I  want  you 
to  leave  for  Pine  Cone  and  stav  there  for  the  next 
twenty-four  hours,  or  until  I  send  for  you." 

She  looked  surprised  and  reluctant,  a  red 
flush  came  up  into  her  big  face. 


164  The  Red  Lady 

**  So's  you  can  make  off  with  the  swag,"  she 
muttered;  then  shrank  at  the  scowl  I  gave  her, 
and  made  an  awkward  and  unwihing  apology. 

"All  right,  then,"  she  said.  "How  about  the 
work.^  What  about  Mrs.  Brane?" 

"I'll  make  it  right  with  Mrs.  Brane,"  I  said 
crisply.  "Trust  me  for  that.  Now,  before  you 
go,  step  over  to  the  desk  there  and  write  what 
I  tell  you." 

She  obeyed,  and  I  dictated  slowly:  "Meet 
me  on  bridge  at  eleven  o'clock  to-night.  Wait 
for  me  till  I  come.  Maida." 

She  looked  at  me  with  her  lids  narrowed  sus- 
piciously, and  my  heart  quailed,  but  the  mo- 
ment of  inspection  passed.  In  fact,  nobody  could 
have  imagined  the  resemblance  that  undoubt- 
edly existed  between  the  leader  of  the  enter- 
prise and  my  wretched,  daring  self. 

"Who's  that  for  .^"  she  asked,  "and  what's 
up.^  Ain't  I  to  know  anything.^  What  price  all 
this?" 

"What  price!"  I  echoed,  "just  our  lives 
—  that's  all.  Do  as  I  say,  and  you'll  be  a 
wealthy  woman  in  a  fortnight.  Don't  do  it, 
even  a  little  of  it,  and  —  and  perhaps  you  can 
guess  where  and  what  you  will  be." 

She  gave  me  a  hunted  look,  glanced  about 


The  Red  Lady  165 

the  room  over  her  shoulder,  and,  obedient  to 
my  gesture,  handed  me  the  paper  she  had 
written. 

"And  no  questions  asked,"  I  added  sternly. 
"Don't  let  me  hear  another  word  of  it.  Now, 
get  my  cloak  and  hat  and  leave  them  in  the 
kitchen  on  the  chair  near  the  stove.  Get  out  as 
soon  as  you  can;  don't  wait  a  minute.  And 
leave  the  kitchen  door  unlocked.  Go  all  the  way 
to  Pine  Cone  and  stay  in  the  room  above  the 
drug-store.  The  woman  is  always  ready  to  take 
a  boarder.  I  '11  send  you  word  before  to-morrow 
night.  Get  out,  and  be  quick.  Above  all,  don't 
be  on  the  bridge  to-night." 

She  vanished  like  a  shadow,  and  I  sat  wait- 
ing with  a  pounding  heart.  If  she  fell  in  with 
that  red-haired  double  now,  my  game  was  up. 
Everything  depended  upon  her  leaving  the 
house  without  any  conflicting  orders,  without 
her  suspecting  my  duplicity. 

I  sat  up  in  bed  till  it  seemed  to  me  that  she 
had  had  time  to  get  my  hat  and  cloak  and  to 
make  her  own  preparations.  Then,  wincing 
with  pain,  I  dragged  myself  up  and  limped  over 
to  my  window.  A  moment  later  Sara  came 
round  the  corner  of  the  house  and  started  down 
the  road.  There  was  just  enough  twilight  for  me 


166  The  Red  Lady 

to  make  her  out.  She  walked  slowly  and  dog- 
gedly, carrying  a  little  bag  in  her  hand.  I  won- 
dered if  Mary  would  come  flying  to  me  with  the 
news  of  this  departure,  or  if  Mrs.  Brane  and 
Paul  Dabney  would  observe  it.  No  attempt 
was  made  to  stop  her,  however,  or  to  call  her 
back.  She  went  on  stolidly,  and  stolidly  passed 
out  of  my  sight.  It  was  in  strange  circumstances 
that  I  saw  her  big,  handsome  face  again. 

I  w^aited  till  I  thought  she  must  have  had 
time  to  reach  the  lane  outside  of  *'The  Pines" 
gate,  then  I  began  painfully,  slowly  to  creep 
into  my  clothes.  Often  I  had  to  rest;  several 
times  I  stopped  to  cry  for  pain.  But  I  kept  on, 
and  at  last  I  stood  fully  dressed  before  my 
mirror.  My  mouth  was  cut  and  torn;  my  face 
scratched;  a  raw  patch  on  one  cheek;  the  marks 
of  the  branch  la}^  red  across  the  base  of  my 
neck,  and  burned  about  my  shoulders.  The 
sight  of  my  injuries  and  the  pain  of  them, 
throbbing  afresh  with  movement,  inflamed  my 
anger  and  my  courage.  I  moved  about  the  room 
several  times,  gradually  limbering  myself;  then 
I  went  quietly  out  of  my  room  and  down  the 
hall  towards  the  kitchen  stairs.  It  was  then 
about  ten  o'clock.  Mrs.  Brane  and  Paul  Dab- 
ney were  probably  in  the  drawing-room,  quietly 


The  Red  Lady  167 

sipping  their  coffee;  Mary  would  be  upstairs 
preparing  Mrs.  Brane's  bedroom  for  the  night; 
Henry  would  have  washed  up  his  dishes  and 
be  gone  upstairs  to  his  room,  unless  he  had 
received  some  further  orders  from  the  hidden 
mistress  of  the  house.  I  had  to  take  this  risk. 
I  stole  down  the  kitchen  stairs,  and,  opening 
the  door  a  crack,  I  peeped  into  the  kitchen. 
The  lamp  had  been  turned  low,  the  fire  was 
banked  up  for  the  night.  A  plate,  with  cup  and 
fork  and  spoon,  was  laid  out  on  the  kitchen 
table,  and  on  the  back  of  the  stove  a  frying-pan 
full  of  food  was  set  to  keep  warm.  What  a 
gourmande  Sara  must  think  her  leader  whom 
she  saw  eating  heartily  enough  at  Mrs.  Brane's 
table,  but  who  insisted,  besides,  on  a  heavy 
meal  at  night!  I  thought  I  knew  who  would 
presently  appear  to  enjoy  her  supper.  She 
would  fancy  the  kitchen  door  securely  locked; 
she  would  fancy  that  I  was  successfully  laid 
by  the  heels.  I  wondered  what  her  plans  for 
the  night  might  be.  I  set  my  teeth  hard  to  keep 
down  the  rage  that  mounted  in  me  at  the  very 
thought  of  her.  Sara  had  obediently  placed  my 
cloak  and  hat  on  one  of  the  kitchen  chairs.  I 
decided  that  there  was  no  time  to  waste.  I 
slipped   quickly  into    the  room  —  I   was   in 


168  The  Red  Lady 

stocking  feet  —  locked  the  kitchen  door,  hid 
the  key  in  my  pocket,  put  the  note  that  I  had 
dictated  to  Sara  under  the  plate  on  the  table, 
and  then,  stealing  softly  to  the  door  of  a  nar- 
row closet  where  Sara  kept  her  brooms,  I 
squeezed  myself  in  and  locked  the  door  on  the 
inside.  When  the  key  was  removed,  I  put  my 
eye  to  the  large,  worn  keyhole,  and  had  a  clear 
but  limited  view  of  the  dim,  empty  room.  I 
knelt  as  comfortably  as  I  could,  for  I  knew 
that  I  should  have  to  keep  my  position  without 
the  motion  of  a  finger  when  the  room  should 
have  an  occupant.  My  heart  beat  heavily  and 
loudly,  my  hurts  throbbed  at  every  beat.  It 
was  a  painful,  a  well-nigh  unbearable  half -hour 
that  I  spent  cramped  there  in  the  closet,  wait- 
ing, waiting,  waiting.  ...  At  last  —  such  a  long 
last  —  there  came  the  ghostly  sound  of  a  step. 

It  drew  nearer;  I  heard  a  faint  noise  of  shift- 
ing boards,  the  door  of  the  low  closet  under 
the  stairs  opened,  and  out  stepped  the  hideous 
image  of  myself.  The  shock  of  that  resemblance 
almost  sent  me  off  into  a  faint.  I  had  seen  the 
creature  only  once  face  to  face;  now,  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  kitchen  lamp,  I  studied  her 
features.  Disfigured  by  passion  and  guilt,  it  was 
nevertheless  my  face.  This  woman  was  older. 


The  Red  Lady  169 

certainly,  by  many  years,  but  a  touch  of  paint 
and  powder,  the  radiance  of  moonUght,  might 
easily  disguise  the  lines  and  shadows.  She  was 
as  slender  as  a  girl,  and  a  clever  actress  could 
simulate  a  look  of  innocence.  I  almost  forgave 
Paul  Dabney  as  I  watched  this  other  ''Me'* 
move  about  the  kitchen  on  her  noiseless  feet. 
She  went  to  the  stove,  took  up  the  frying- 
pan,  and  carried  it  over  to  the  table.  On  the 
way  she  noticed  my  cloak  and  hat  and  stopped, 
evidently  startled,  holding  the  pan  in  her 
hands.  She  glanced  nervously  about  the  room, 
went  over  to  the  door  that  was  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  and  tried  it.  I  was  thankful  that  I  had 
taken  the  precaution  of  locking  it.  I  hoped  she 
would  not  notice  that  the  key  was  gone.  She 
returned  to  the  table  and  sat  down  before  the 
plate.  Then  she  saw  the  note  and  snatched  it 
up.  She  bent  her  fiery  head,  arranged  so  care- 
fully in  imitation  of  mine,  over  the  writing. 
I  saw  her  lips  move.  She  looked  up  frowning, 
uncertain,  surprised.  Then  she  walked  over  to 
the  stove,  thrust  Sara's  note  into  the  fire,  re- 
turned, and  stood  in  deep  thought  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  I  was  sick  with  suspense.  Clouds 
passed  over  my  eyes.  Would  she  fall  into  my 
clumsy  trap.^  Presently  she  walked  slowly  over 


170  The  Red  Lady 

to  my  cloak  and  hat  and  put  them  on.  With 
the  hat  pressing  her  soft  hair  down  about  her 
face,  she  was  so  terribly  Hke  me  that  my  un- 
canny fears  returned.  She  must  be  some  spirit 
clothed  in  my  aura,  possessing  herself  in  some 
infernal  fashion  of  my  outward  semblance.  A 
cold  sweat  had  broken  out  over  me.  I  felt  it 
run  down  my  temples. 

Another  long  minute  she  stood  there,  ed- 
bating  with  herself;  then  she  looked  at  the 
clock,  made  use  of  her  ghastly  smile,  and 
stepped  quietly  across  the  kitchen  and  out 
into  the  night.  I  waited  —  a  fortunate  pre- 
caution —  for  she  came  back  five  minutes 
later  and  peered  about.  There  was  nothing  to 
alarm  her  since  she  could  not  hear  the  pound- 
ing of  my  heart.  She  decided  to  follow  the  in- 
structions, and  again  disappeared.  I  waited  an- 
other fifteen  minutes,  then,  cold  with  fear  and 
excitement,  I  came  out  of  my  hiding-place.  I 
glided  over  to  the  door,  and  looked  out.  It  was 
a  dark  and  cloudy  night.  I  could  hear  the 
swinging  and  rustling  of  the  trees.  There  was 
no  other  sound,  nor  could  I  see  anything  astir 
in  the  little  garden  except  the  gate  which  was 
ajar  and  creaking  faintly  on  its  hinges.  She  had 
gone. 


The  Red  Lady  171 

I  came  back  hastily  into  the  kitchen  and 
Hghted  a  candle  which  was  stuck  into  a  tin 
candlestick  on  a  shelf.  I  looked  at  the  clock. 
It  was  now  half -past  ten.  In  half  an  hour  the 
woman  would  reach  the  bridge.  She  would  wait 
for  Maida,  perhaps  an  hour,  perhaps  not  so 
long;  after  that,  she  would  be  suspicious  and 
return.  I  had  therefore  not  more  than  an  hour, 
with  any  certainty,  to  follow  the  directions  I 
had  memorized;  to  rifle  the  hoard,  and  to  make 
my  escape  from  the  thief's  hiding-place.  Then 
I  would  telephone  to  the  Pine  Cone  police. 

I  opened  the  door  of  the  low  closet  under  the 
stairs. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  KITCHEN  CLOSET 

I  LIGHTED  my  candle  and  stepped  into  the 
closet,  shutting  the  door  behind  me.  The 
small  space,  no  longer  cluttered  by  old  odds 
and  ends  of  gardening  tools,  was  clear  to  my 
eyes  in  every  corner,  and  presented  so  common- 
place an  appearance  that  I  was  almost  ready 
to  believe  that  nightmares  had  possessed  me 
lately,  and  that  an  especially  vivid  one  had 
brought  me  to  stand  absurdly  here  in  the  sleep- 
ing house  peering  at  an  innocent  board  wall. 
Nevertheless,  I  set  down  my  candle  on  the 
floor  and  attacked  the  boards  put  up  by  Henry 
with  what  skill  and  energy  I  could. 

They  moved  at  once  as  though  they  were 
on  oiled  hinges,  and  the  whole  low  side  of  the 
closet  came  forward  in  my  hands.  Before  me 
opened  the  black  hole  into  which  I  had  fallen 
the  morning  when  Mary  and  I  had  explored 
the  kitchen  after  Delia's  departure.  I  did  not 
know  what  lay  there  in  the  dark,  but,  unless  I 
had  the  courage  of  my  final  adventure,  there 
was  no  use  in  having  braved  and  endured  so 


The  Red  Lady  173 

much.  I  slid  my  lighted  candle  ahead  of  me 
and  crept  along  the  floor  into  the  hole. 

I  had  to  creep  only  for  an  instant,  then 
damp,  cool  space  opened  above  my  head  and  I 
stood  up.  I  was  in  a  narrow  passageway  of  enor- 
mous height;  in  fact,  the  whole  outer  wall  of  the 
house  stood  at  my  right  hand,  and  the  whole 
inner  wall  at  my  left,  crossed  here  and  there 
by  the  beams  of  the  deep  window  sills  to  which 
Mrs.  Brane  had  called  my  attention  on  the 
evening  of  my  arrival  at  ''The  Pines."  It  was 
the  most  curious  place.  A  foot  or  two  in  front 
of  me  a  narrow  stairs  made  of  packing-boxes 
and  odd  pieces  of  lumber  nailed  together,  went 
up  betw^een  the  walls.  Holding  my  candle  high, 
so  that  as  far  as  possible  I  could  see  before 
and  above  me,  I  began  to  mount  the  steps.  I 
was  weak  w^ith  excitement  and  with  the  heavy 
beating  of  my  heart. 

I  counted  sixteen  steps,  and  saw  that  I  had 
come  to  the  top  of  the  queer  flight.  The  narrow, 
enormously  high,  passage,  like  an  alley  between 
towering  sky-scrapers  led  on  with  an  odd  look, 
somewhere  ahead  of  me  sloping  up.  I  walked 
perhaps  twenty  steps,  and  saw  that  I  had  come 
to  the  foot  of  an  inclined  plane.  Probably  Mr. 
Brane  had  found  it  easier  of  construction  than 


174  The  Red  Lady 

his  amateur  stairs.  I  mounted  it  slowly,  stop- 
ping to  listen  and  to  hold  my  breath.  There 
was  no  sound  in  the  house  but  the  faint  scut- 
tling of  rats  and  the  faint,  faint  pressure  of  my 
steps.  I  realized  that  I  must  now  be  on  a  level 
with  the  passage  in  the  northern  wing,  and 
that  here  it  was  that  the  various  housekeepers 
and  servants  had  heard  a  ghostly  footfall  or  a 
gusty  sigh.  It  would  be  easy  enough  to  play 
ghost  here;  in  fact,  I  felt  like  an  unholy  spirit 
entombed  between  the  walls  of  the  sleeping, 
unsuspecting  house. 

I  reached  the  top  of  the  inclined  plane,  and 
stopped  with  my  left  hand  against  the  wall. 
Here  I  could  see  a  long  row  of  parallel  rafters 
between  which  ran  horizontal  beams.  In  the 
spaces  so  enclosed  lay  the  rows  of  bricks,  hard- 
ened cement  curling  along  their  edges.  My 
hand  rested  against  the  first  parallel  rafter  on 
the  left  side.  I  began  to  count :  one,  two,  three, 
four,  five.  This  was  certainly  the  fifth  rafter 
on  the  left  wall  from  the  top  of  the  inclined 
plane.  I  put  down  my  candle.  If  my  chart  was 
right,  and  not  the  crazy  fiction  of  a  diseased 
brain  as  I  half  imagined  it  to  be,  this  fifth 
rafter  hid  the  iron  box  in  which  lay  a  treasure 
thought  by  the  writer  of  the  directions  to  be 


The  Red  Lady  175 

*' worthy  of  any  risk,  alraost  of  any  crime."  I 
put  my  arms  out  at  a  level  with  my  shoulders, 
and  grasped  the  beam  in  both  hands.  I  pulled. 
Instantly,  a  section  about  as  long  as  myself 
moved  forward.  I  pulled  again.  This  time  the 
heavy  beam  came  out  suddenly,  and  I  fell  with 
it.  The  thud  seemed  to  me  loud  enough  to 
wake  the  dead.  I  crouched,  holding  my  breath, 
where  I  had  fallen,  then,  freeing  myself  from 
the  beam  which  had  caught  my  skirt,  I  stood 
up.  I  peered  into  the  opening  behind  the  beam. 
In  the  narrow  darkness  of  the  space  there 
seemed  to  be  a  narrower,  denser  darkness.  I 
put  my  hand  on  it,  and  touched  the  edge  of  a 
long,  narrow  box. 

Instantly  the  fascination  of  all  stories  of  hid- 
den treasure,  the  wonder  thrill  of  Ali  Baba's 
hidden  cave,  the  spell  of  Monte  Cristo,  had  me, 
and  I  felt  no  fear  of  any  kind.  Wounds,  and 
pains,  and  terrors  dropped  from  me.  I  pulled 
out  the  box  as  boldly  and  as  eagerly  as  any 
pirate  in  a  tale.  It  was  heavy,  the  box.  I  eased 
it  to  the  floor  and  laid  it  flat.  It  was  an  old, 
shallow  box  of  iron,  rusted  and  stained.  There 
was  no  mark  of  any  kind  upon  it,  just  a  key- 
hole in  the  front.  I  must  now  find  the  eight- 
eenth brick  in  the  thirtieth  row  in  order  to 


176  The  Red  Lady 

possess  myself  of  the  key  to  my  treasure.  I 
comited  carefully,  pressing  each  brick  with  an 
unsteady,  feverish  finger.  On  the  thirtieth  row 
from  the  floor,  eighteen  bricks  from  the  fifth 
rafter  .  .  .  yes,  this  was  certainly  the  thirtieth 
row.  I  counted  twice  to  make  sure,  and  now, 
from  the  rafter,  the  eighteenth  brick.  It  looked 
quite  as  secure  as  any  other,  and,  indeed,  I 
had  to  work  hard  to  clear  away  the  cement 
that  held  it  in  place.  When  that  was  done,  I 
had  no  difficulty  in  loosening  it.  I  took  it  out 
—  yes,  there  behind  it  lay  an  iron  key.  I  did 
not  stop  to  replace  the  brick,  but,  hurrying 
back  to  my  box,  knelt  down  before  it.  My 
hands  were  shaking  so  that  I  had  to  steady 
my  right  with  my  left  in  order  to  fit  in  the 
key. 

It  would  not  turn.  I  worked  and  twisted  and 
poked.  Nothing  would  move  the  rusty  lock. 
Sweat  streamed  down  my  face.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  go  back  to  the  kitchen, 
get  some  kerosene,  pour  it  into  the  lock,  and 
so  oil  the  rusty  contrivance.  Every  minute  was 
as  precious  as  life  itself.  I  made  the  trip  at 
desperate  speed,  returned  with  a  small  bottle 
full  of  oil,  and  saturated  the  lock.  After  another 
five  minutes  of  fruitless  twisting,  suddenly  the 


The  Red  Lady  177 

key  turned.  I  grasped  the  lid.  It  opened  with  a 
faint,  protesting  squeak. 

It  seemed  to  me  at  first  that  the  box  was  full 
of  bright  and  moving  life;  then  I  saw,  with  a 
catching  breath,  that  the  flame  of  my  candle 
played  across  the  surface  of  a  hundred  gems. 
There  lay  in  the  box  an  ecclesiastical  robe  of 
some  kind,  encrusted  all  over  with  jewels.  And 
at  one  end  rested  a  slender  circlet,  like  a  Vir- 
gin's crown,  studded  with  crimson,  and  blue, 
and  white,  and  yellow  stones.  So  did  the  whole 
bewildering,  beautiful  thing  gleam  and  glisten 
and  shoot  sparks  that  it  seemed  indeed  to  be 
on  fire.  I  have  never  till  that  night  felt  the 
mysterious  lure  of  precious  stones.  Kneeling 
there  alone  in  the  strange  hiding-place,  I  was 
possessed  by  an  intolerable  longing  to  escape 
with  these  glittering  things,  and  to  live  some- 
where in  secret,  to  fondle  and  cherish  their  un- 
earthly fires.  It  was  a  thirst,  an  appetite,  the 
explanation  of  all  the  terrible  digging  and 
delving,  the  sweat  and  the  exhaustion  of  the 
mine  ...  it  was  something  akin  to  the  hypno- 
tism that  the  glittering  eye  of  the  serpent  has 
for  its  victim,  a  desire,  a  peril  rooted  deep  in 
the  hearts  of  men,  one  of  the  most  mysterious 
things  in  our  mysterious  spirit.  I  knelt  there. 


178  The  Red  Lady 

forgetful  of  my  danger,  forgetful  of  my  life, 
forgetful  of  everything  except  the  beauty  of 
those  stones.  Then,  with  a  violent  start,  I  re- 
membered. I  carefully  drew  out  the  robe,  laid 
it  over  my  arm,  and,  taking  the  heavy  cir- 
clet in  my  hand,  I  prepared  myself  for  flight. 
The  load  was  extraordinarily  heavy.  I  bent 
under  it. 

I  had  taken  perhaps  six  steps  towards  safety 
when  I  heard  a  sound. 

It  was  not  the  sound  of  rats,  it  was  not  the 
sound  of  my  own  light  step  ...  it  was  some- 
thing else.  1  did  not  know  what  that  sound  was, 
but  some  instinct  told  me  that  it  was  a  danger 
signal.  I  put  out  my  candle  and  flattened  my- 
self against  the  wall.  Then  I  did  distinctly 
hear  an  approaching  step.  It  was  not  anywhere 
else  in  the  house.  It  was  between  those  two 
walls.  It  was  ascending  the  steps,  it  was  com- 
ing up  the  plane.  Through  the  pitchy  darkness 
it  advanced,  bringing  with  it  no  light,  but 
moving  surely  as  though  it  knew  every  step  of 
the  way.  There  was  hardly  room  for  two  peo- 
ple between  those  high  walls;  any  one  passing 
me,  where  I  stood,  must  brush  against  me.  I 
dared  not  move  even  to  lay  down  my  treasure 
and  put  myself  into  an  attitude  of  self-defense. 


The  Red  Lady  179 

I  thought  that  my  only  chance  lay  in  the  mir- 
acle of  being  passed  without  notice.  Near  to  me 
the  footsteps  stopped,  and  I  remembered  that 
any  foot  coming  along  the  passage  would  per- 
force strike  against  the  box  and  the  fallen  beam. 
There  was  no  hope.  Nevertheless,  like  some 
frozen  image,  I  stood  there  clasping  the  robe 
and  crown,  incapable  of  motion,  incapable  of 
thought. 

I  could  hear  a  faint  breathing  in  the  dark.  It 
was  not  more  than  two  feet  away  from  me.  It 
seemed  to  my  straining  eyeballs  that  I  could 
make  out  the  lines  of  a  body  standing  there,  its 
blank  face  turned  in  my  direction.  Then  — • 
my  heart  leaped  with  the  terror  of  it  —  the 
invisible  being  laughed. 

"You  have  n't  gone,"  said  the  low,  sweet, 
horrible  voice;  *'I  can  smell  the  candle,  so  you 
must  have  put  it  out  when  you  heard  me.  If 
I  had  n't  struck  my  foot  against  a  board,  I  'd 
have  come  upon  you  in  the  midst  of  your  in- 
teresting work.  There 's  no  place  to  hide  here. 
You  've  either  run  back  to  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage and  crept  in  under  my  bedclothes,  or 
you're  flattened  up  against  the  wall.  I  think 
you're  near  me.  I  think  I  hear  your  heart  ..." 
No  doubt,  she  did;  it  was  laboring  like  a  ship 


180  The  Red  Lady 

in  a  storm.  She  paused  probably  to  listen  to 
my  pounding  blood,  then  she  laughed  again. 
'*You're  badly  scared,  aren't  you?  It's  a  feel- 
ing of  security,  my  girl,  compared  to  the  fright 
you'll  get  later.  Why  don't  you  scream.^  Too 
scared.^  Or  are  you  afraid  you'll  kill  somebody 
else,  besides  Robbie,  of  fright.  A  ghost  scream- 
ing in  the  wall!  Grrrrrr!" 

I  can  give  no  idea  of  the  terrible  sound  she 
made  in  her  throat.  And  the  truth  was  I 
could  n't  scream.  I  was  pinned  there  against 
the  wall  as  though  there  were  hands  around  my 
neck. 

She  made  a  step  forward  —  it  was  like  a 
ghastly  game  of  Blind  Man's  Buff;  most  of 
those  games  must  be  based  on  fearful  race- 
memories  of  outgrown  terrors ;  then  she  gave  a 
sudden  spring  to  one  side,  an  instinctive,  beast- 
like movement,  and  her  hand  struck  my  face. 
Instantly  she  had  flung  herself  upon  me.  I  let 
fall  my  booty  and  fought  with  all  my  strength. 
I  might  as  well  have  struggled  with  a  tigress. 
She  was  made  of  strings  of  steel.  Her  arms  and 
legs  twisted  about  me  like  serpents,  her  furious 
strength  was  disgusting,  loathsome,  her  breath 
beat  upon  my  face.  I  fell  under  her,  and  she 
turned  up  my  skirt  over  my  head,  fastening  it 


\ 


The  Red  Lady  181 

in  the  darkness  with  such  devihsh  quick  skill 
that  I  could  not  move  my  arms.  Also  she 
crammed  fold  after  fold  into  my  mouth  till 
I  was  gagged,  my  jaws  forced  open  till  they 
ached.  The  pam  in  my  throat  and  neck  was 
intolerable. 

Then,  groping  about,  she  found  the  candle 
and  I  heard  her  strike  a  match.  Afterwards  she 
inspected  the  treasure,  drawing  deep  sighs  of 
satisfaction  and  murmuring  to  herself.  After 
a  long  time  of  enjoyment,  she  sat  down  beside 
me,  placing  the  candle  so  that  it  shone  upon 
me.  I  could  see  the  light  through  the  thinnish 
stuff  over  my  face. 

'*Now,  Janice,"  she  said,  "I  shall  make  you 
more  comfortable,  and  then  I  shall  afford  you 
some  of  the  most  excellent  entertainment  you 
can  well  imagine.  There  are  people  all  over  the 
world  who  would  give  ten  years  of  their  lives 
to  hear  what  you  are  going  to  hear  to-night.  I 
have  some  interesting  stories  to  tell.  There  is 
plenty  of  time  before  us.  I  shall  not  have  to 
leave  you  till  just  before  daybreak,  and  we 
might  as  well  have  a  pleasant  time  together.  I 
was  too  busy  the  other  afternoon  in  the  woods 
and  too  hurried  to  give  you  any  real  attention. 
This  time  I  shall  do  my  duty  by  you.  You  are 


182  The  Red  Lady 

really  rather  a  remarkable  girl,  and  I  am  proud 
of  you.  That  beating  I  gave  you  would  have 
laid  up  most  young  women  for  a  fortnight. 
But  you  are  made  of  adventurous  stuff."  She 
sighed,  a  strange  sound  to  come  from  her  lips; 
then,  skillfully,  she  drew  the  skirt  partially 
from  my  face,  possessed  herself  of  my  hands 
which  she  bound  securely  with  a  string  she 
took  from  her  pocket  —  a  piece  of  twine  which, 
if  I  stirred  a  finger,  cut  into  my  wrists  like  a 
knife.  She  gradually  drew  the  gag  out  of  my 
mouth,  keeping  a  strangling  hold  on  my  throat 
as  she  did  so,  and  when  my  jaw  snapped  back 
in  place  —  it  had  been  almost  out  of  its  socket 
—  still  keeping  that  grip  on  my  wind-pipe,  she 
tied  a  silk  handkerchief  over  my  mouth,  knot- 
ting it  tightly  behind  my  head.  Then  she  re- 
leased me  and  moved  a  little  away.  I  looked 
at  her,  no  doubt,  with  the  eyes  of  a  trapped 
animal,  so  that,  bending  down  to  inspect  me, 
she  laughed  again. 

"I'm  not  going  to  kill  you,  you  know,"  she 
said  sweetly,  —  "  not  yet.  I  could  have  killed 
you  the  other  day  if  it  had  n't  been  more  to 
my  purpose  to  let  you  live.  I  could  have  killed 
you  any  time  these  past  few  weeks.  Don't  you 
know  that,  you  silly,  reckless  child  .^  All  of  you 


The  Red  Lady  ,183 

here  in  this  absurd  house  lay  in  the  hollow  of 
my  hand."  She  held  out  one  of  her  very  long, 
slender  hands,  so  like  my  own,  as  she  spoke, 
and  slowly,  tensely,  drew  her  fingers  together 
as  though  she  were  crushing  some  small  live 
thing  to  death.  "I  did  n't  really  mean  to  kill 
E-obbie.  But  I  did  mean  to  get  him  out  of  that 
room,  alive  or  dead.  He  killed  himself,  which 
saved  me  the  trouble.  I  don't  like  killing  chil- 
dren —  it 's  quite  untrue  what  they  say  of  me 
in  that  respect  —  though  I've  been  driven  to 
it  once  or  twice.  It's  being  too  squeamish 
about  babies'  lives  that 's  put  an  end  to  most 
careers  of  burglary.  That 's  the  God's  truth, 
Janice.  You  're  shaking,  are  n't  you.^^  How 
queer  it  must  be  to  have  nerves  like  that 
—  young,  innocent,  ignorant  nerves !  Poor  Jan- 
ice! Poor  little  red-haired  facsimile  of  myself! 
What  explanation  did  you  find  for  that  re- 
semblance.^ I  fancied  you'd  frighten  yourself 
into  a  superstitious  spasm  over  it,  and  stop 
your  night-meddling  for  good.  But  you  didn't. 
I'll  be  bound,  though,  that  the  true  explana- 
tion never  occurred  to  you." 

I  had  been  staring  up  into  her  beautiful, 
ghastly  face,  but  now  I  closed  my  eyes.  A  most 
intolerable  thought  had  come  to  me.  It  came 


184  The  Red  Lady 

slowly,  gropingly,  out  of  the  remote  past,  and 
it  turned  my  heart  into  a  heavy  gray  stone. 

"Are  you  remembering,  Janice?  No, that's 
not  possible.  You  were  too  young."  She  leaned 
over  me  again,  and  pushed  back  a  lock  of  hair 
that  had  been  troubling  my  eyes.  "You've 
grown  to  be  a  very  beautiful  girl." 

I  groaned  aloud,  and  writhed  there.  I  knew 
the  truth  now.  There  was  a  mother  from  whom 
I  had  been  taken  w^hen  I  was  a  few  months  old 
—  a  mother  of  whom  my  father  would  never 
let  me  speak,  a  mother  I  had  been  told  to  for- 
get, to  blot  out  of  my  imagination  as  though 
she  had  never  been.  What  dreadful  reason  my 
father  must  have  had  for  his  secret,  sordid 
manner  of  living!  What  a  shadow  had  lain  on 
my  childhood  with  its  drab  wanderings,  its 
homelessness,  its  disgraceful  shifts  and  pitiful 
poverty!  All  that  far-off  miserj^  which  I  had 
tried  so  hard  to  forget  in  the  new  land,  came 
back  upon  me  now  with  an  added,  crushing 
weight.  I  lay  there  and  longed  to  die. 

The  woman  began  to  talk  again. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  your  mother.  My 
name  was  Wenda  Tour,  and  I  married  Sergius 
Gale,  who  was  your  father.  I  am  Polish-French, 
and  he  was  Russian-French.  When  I  married 


The  Red  Lady  185 

him  he  was  an  innocent,  Httle,  pale-faced  stu- 
dent at  the  University  of  Moscow.  I  was  only 
sixteen,  myself,  training  for  a  dancer,  acting  . .  . 
a  clever,  abused,  gifted  young  waif,  and  fairly 
innocent,  too,  though  I'd  always  been  light- 
fingered  and  skillful  at  all  sorts  of  tricks.  I 
think  I  was  in  love  with  Sergius;  at  any  rate, 
I  was  anxious  to  escape  from  the  trainer,  who 
was  a  brute.  But  Sergius  began  to  bore  me.  Oh, 
my  God!  how  insufferably  he  bored  me!  And 
he  was  so  wearisomely  weak,  weaker  than  most 
men,  and,  the  Lord  knows,  they're  mostly 
made  of  butter,  or  milk-and-water  mixtures. 
And  you  bored  me  dreadfully,  too;  the  very 
thought  of  you  before  you  came  filled  me  with 
a  real  distaste  for  life.  By  the  time  you  made 
your  squalling  entrance  into  the  world,  I  had 
got  myself  into  rather  complicated  trouble, 
and  managed  to  make  a  scapegoat  of  your 
father,  the  poor  fool !  It  was  a  sharp  business, 
and  it  might  have  made  us  both  rich,  but  I  was 
clumsier  than  I  am  now,  and  Sergius  was  a  hin- 
drance. It  did  n't  quite  go  through,  and  I  had 
to  make  a  get-away,  a  quick  one.  I've  made 
some  even  quicker  since  then.  After  he'd  spent 
some  sobering  and  salutary  months  in  a  Rus- 
sian prison,  your  father  came  out,  reformed  and 


186  The  Red  Lady 

completely  cured  of  his  passion  for  red-haired 
vixens  with  a  natural  taste  for  crime.  I  've  of- 
ten wondered  how  he  treated  you,  little  mini- 
ature of  myself  as  you  were  even  in  your  cradle. 
I  don't  believe  you  had  a  very  comfortable 
childhood,  Janice.  The  crudest  thing  I  ever 
did,  and  the  wickedest,  was  to  let  you  come 
into  the  world,  or,  having  let  you  come,  to  al- 
low you  to  remain  here.  I  ought  to  have  put 
you  out  of  your  misery  before  it  had  really  be- 
gun. You  wouldn't  be  lying  here  shaking.  You 
would  n't  have  to  pay  the  piper  for  me  as  I  fear 
I  shall  be  forced  to  make  you  pay  before  I 
leave  you  to-night.  I  hate  to  do  it.  I  honestly 
do.  There  must  be  a  soft  spot  left  in  me  some- 
where, but  there 's  no  use  balking.  It 's  got  to  be 
done.  It's  too  good  a  chance  to  miss.  I  can  wipe 
out  my  past  as  though  it  had  been  written  on  a 
slate.  You  can't  blame  me  yourself,  Janice.  The 
jewels  mean  wealth,  and  your  death  means  my 
freedom.  When  they  find  you  here  —  and  they 
will  find  you  —  they  will  think  that  they  have 
found  my  corpse.  Don't  you  see.^  Even  Maida, 
even  the  Baron,  even  Jaffrey,  even  the  priest, 
will  swear  to  it  —  you  see.  If  you  had  n't  been 
so  clever,  or  a  little  bit  cleverer,  you  would  n't 
have  played  my  game,  or  you  'd  have  taken 


The  Red  Lady  187 

more  pains  to  keep  your  plan  a  secret  from  me. 
Once  I  was  sure  you  did  n't  think  your  double  a 
ghost,  I  began  to  suspect  you;  when  you  pulled 
that  lover  of  yours  "  — she  laughed,  and  even 
in  my  misery  I  felt  the  sting  of  anger  and  of 
shame  —  "of  ours,  I  should  say  —  when  you 
pulled  him  out  of  the  mud,  why,  I  found  my- 
self able  to  read  you  like  a  child's  first  primer. 
Oh,  you've  been  a  nuisance  to  me,  kept  me  on 
pins  and  needles.  I  knew  you  would  n't  dare 
to  search  the  house.  I  suppose  you  guessed  that 
would  mean  the  end  of  your  life,  but  you  've 
certainly  given  me  some  unhappy  minutes. 
That  fool  of  a  Baron,  blabbing  out  his  secret 
to  you  .  .  .  but  I  made  it  all  work  out  to  my 
salvation.  They've  nabbed  the  Baron  and  the 
priest;  I  suppose  they'll  get  Maida  to-night; 
Jaffrey  will  be  caught  snoring  in  his  bed  "  — 
she  chuckled — ^  "and  there 's  an  end  to  all  my 
partners,  all  the  fools  that  thought  they  'd  come 
in  for  a  share  of  booty.  The  only  thing  that 
bothers  me  is  that  they  '11  never  know  how 
neatly  I  bagged  them  all,  and  made  a  get-away 
myself.  They  will  think  me  dead.  They'll  bear 
witness.  They'll  point  at  your  dead  body,  Jan- 
ice, and  say,  'Yes,  that's  she.'  Oh,  it's  a  rare 
trick  I  'm  playing  on  the  police,  on  the  gang,  on 


188  The  Red  Lady 

every  one  —  especially  that  cat  of  a  Hovey 
with  his  eyes."  She  rubbed  her  lips  angrily,  a 
curious,  to  me  inexplicable,  gesture.  ''But  it's 
a  poor  joke  for  you,  my  girl.  Playing  your  hand 
alone  against  a  lot  of  hardened  old  hands  like 
us  is  a  fool's  work.  That 's  what  it  is !  Did  you 
think  I  'd  let  you  run  off  with  a  fortune  under 
my  very  nose.^  No;  you  '11  have  to  pay  for  that 
insolence.  Daughter  or  no  daughter,  you'll 
have  to  pay.  At  least,  I  '11  be  saving  your  soul 
alive.  If  I  had  n't  got  back  to  you  to-night, 
you'd  be  a  thief  flying  out  into  the  world. 
Perhaps  your  dying  to-night  is  the  best  thing 
that  could  happen  to  you.  I  don't  know.  Look- 
ing back  —  well,  it's  hard  to  say." 

She  sat  there  thinking,  forgetful  of  me,  and 
I  opened  my  miserable  eyes  and  stared  hope- 
lessly at  the  clear,  hard  profile,  so  beautiful, 
so  evil,  so  unutterably  merciless.  She  had  been 
sixteen  when  I  was  born,  twenty  years  ago.  She 
was  now  only  thirty-six,  and  yet  her  face  was 
almost  old. 

She  turned  upon  me  again  with  her  ghastly 
smile.  "You  don't  look  pleased  to  see  your 
mother,  my  dear.  Perhaps  I  was  a  trifle  rough 
with  you  at  our  first  interview,  but  you've 
been  spared  a  great  many  worse  thrashings  by 


The  Red  Lady  189 

having  been  separated  from  me  at  such  an 
early  age.  I  have  a  deviHsh  temper,  as  you 
know.  I  'd  probably  have  flogged  you  to  death 
before  you  were  out  of  your  pinafores.  I  'd  like 
to  hear  your  history  —  oh,  I  've  kept  track  of 
its  outlines,  I  always  thought  you  might  some 
day  be  useful  —  but  I  don't  dare  take  that 
handkerchief  off  of  your  mouth.  That  hand- 
kerchief belonged  to  my  second  husband,  the 
Comte  de  Treme.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  went  up  in  the 
world  after  I'd  put  Sergius  into  prison.  I've 
been  a  great  lady.  It 's  a  tremendous  advantage 
to  any  career,  to  learn  the  grand  air  and  to  get 
a  smattering  of  education.  Poor  Treme!  He 
was  n't  cjuite  the  weakling  that  most  of  them 
have  been.  I  have  a  certain  respect  for  him  ac- 
tually. He  was  a  good  man,  and  no  milk  and 
water  in  his  veins,  either.  If  any  one  could  have 
exorcised  the  devil  in  me,  it  was  he.  He  did  his 
best,  but  I  was  too  much  for  him  . . .  and  in  the 
end,  poor  fool,  he  put  a  bullet  into  his  brain 
because  —  oh,  these  idiot  aristocrats !  —  of 
the  disgrace.  It  was  after  Treme,  a  long  while 
after  Treme,  when  I  was  queening  it  in  St. 
Petersburg,  —  because,  you  see,  I  did  n't  fall 
into  disgrace  at  all;  I  let  Treme  shoulder  it; 
he  was  dead,  and  it  could  n't  hurt  him,  and  I 


190  The  Red  Lady 

was  glad  to  stab  that  high-nosed  family  of  his, 
—  about  three  years  after  his  death,  I  suppose, 
when  the  ex-army  captain  came  along.  Brane, 
you  know,  Theodore  Brane. . . .  He  was  a  hand- 
some chap,  long  and  lean  and  blue-eyed.  I  lost 
my  head  over  him.  I  was  still  pretty  young, 
twenty  or  thereabouts.  He  would  n't  marry 

me,  d him !  And  I  was  a  fool.  That 's  where 

I  lost  my  footing.  Well,  this  is  going  to  put  me 
back  again  and  revenge  me  on  that  cold-blooded 
coward.  We  lived  together,  and  we  lived  like 
princes  —  on  Treme's  fortune.  You  should 
have  seen  his  family!  It  was  when  the  Treme 
estate  was  bled  dry  that  I  happened  to  remem- 
ber those  jewels.  Yes.  I'd  seen  them  in  the  ca- 
thedral at  Moscow  in  a  secret  crypt,  down  un- 
der the  earth.  I  was  a  child  at  the  time,  a  little 
red-haired  imp  of  nine  or  ten,  and  I  got  round  a 
silly  old  sheep  of  a  priest,  and  begged  him  so 
hard  to  let  me  go  down  through  the  trapdoor 
with  him  that  he  consented.  He  thought  it 
could  do  no  harm,  I  suppose,  —  a  child  of  that 
age!  I  saw  the  Beloved  Virgin  of  the  Jewels! 
She  stood  there  blazing,  a  candlestick  made  of 
solid  gold  burning  on  her  right  hand  and  her 
left  —  an  unforgettable  sight  —  the  robe  and 
the  circlet  that  are  here  beside  us  now  in 


The  Red  Lady  191 

Brane's  double  wall  in  North  Carolina . . .  God ! 
it 's  strange  —  this  life ! 

"  I  often  thought  of  that  Holy  Wealthy  Lady 
in  her  crypt.  WTien  Brane  and  I  were  at  an  end 
of  our  means,  and  of  our  wits,  and  he  beginning 
to  get  tired  of  the  connection,  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  have  a  try  at  the  Moscow  Virgin's 
wardrobe.  I  did  n't  tell  Brane,  though  he  was  a 
thief  himself,  cashiered  from  the  British  army 
for  looting  in  India.  I  thought  this  scheme 
would  be  a  bit  too  stiff  for  him.  I  went  alone 
to  Moscow,  and  I  became  the  most  pious  fre- 
quenter of  ikons,  the  most  devout  of  worship- 
ers, a  generous  patron  to  all  droning  priests. 
And  there  was  one  —  one  with  a  big,  oval 
Christ-face  —  that  I  meant  to  corrupt.  He  was 
rotten  to  the  core,  anyway,  a  grayish- white 
sepulcher  if  ever  there  was  one.  I  got  him  so 
that  he  cringed  at  my  feet.  He  w^as  a  white, 
soft  worm  —  ugh !  I  chose  him  for  the  scape- 
goat. That 's  the  real  secret  of  my  success,  Jan- 
ice. I  never  forgot  to  provide  a  scapegoat,  some 
one  upon  whom  the  police  were  bound  to  tum- 
ble headlong  at  the  very  first  investigation.  I 
am  afraid  you  are  the  scapegoat  this  time  — - 
you  and  '  Dabney '  —  this  will  give  his  fool- 
heart  a  twist,  set  him  to  rights  until  next. time. 


192  The  Red  Lady 

It's  a  rotten  trick  to  play  on  you,  but  you 
should  n't  have  mixed  up  in  it.  A  sensible  girl 
would  n't  have  taken  the  bait  —  a  slip  of  paper 
handed  to  her  in  the  street !  For  shame,  Janice ! 
It  was  my  first  idea,  and  I  laughed  at  it.  I 
thought  I  'd  have  to  think  up  something  better. 
But  it  worked.  Folly  is  just  as  deserving  of  pun- 
ishment as  crime — more  so,  I  believe.  It 's  only 
just  that  a  fool  should  lie  tied  up  and  gagged. 
That 's  the  way  the  world  works,  and  it 's  not 
such  a  bad  world,  after  all,  if  you  make  yourself 
its  master  and  kick  over  a  few  conventions. . . . 
"Well,  Father  Gast  ate  out  of  my  hand,  and 
thought  me  as  beautiful  as  one  of  God's  angels, 
only  a  little  more  merciful  to  the  desires  of 
men  .  .  .  and  one  day  he  gave  me  a  permit, 
got  a  young  acolyte  of  the  cathedral  to  take  me 
down  to  worship  at  the  shrine  of  the  Most  Be- 
loved Virgin  of  the  Jewels.  It  was  dark  in  the 
crypt,  except  for  the  candle  that  poor  boy  car- 
ried above  his  head.  The  Virgin  stood  there 
glistening.  I  knelt  down  to  pray.  The  boy  knelt 
down.  I  snatched  the  candlestick  of  gold  that 
stood  on  the  Virgin's  right  hand  and  cracked 
his  skull.  He  dropped  without  so  much  as  a 
whimper.  Then  I  stripped  our  Holy  Lady,  and 
came  up  out  of  the  crypt." 


The  Red  Lady  193 

She  stopped  to  dravv^  a  long,  long  breath,  as 
she  must  have  stopped  when,  in  the  dim  Krem- 
lin, she  had  come  up  out  of  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  carrying  her  treasure,  leaving  the  boy 
acolyte  senseless  before  the  naked  shrine.  For 
all  the  terrible  preoccupation  of  my  mind,  rac- 
ing with  death,  I  could  not  help  but  listen  to 
her  story.  My  imagination  seemed  to  be  stimu- 
lated by  the  terror  of  my  plight.  I  might  have 
been  in  the  crypt;  I  seemed  to  smell  the  damp, 
incense-laden,  close  smell  of  candle-lighted 
chapels.  I  felt  the  weight  of  the  jeweled  robe, 
the  fearful  necessity  for  escape. 

After  her  long  breath,  she  began  again 
eagerly. 

"I  came  up  out  of  the  crypt,  and  I  called  to 
my  Christ-faced  haha.  He  was  waiting  for  me 
near  the  altar  at  his  hypocritical  prayers.  He 
came  quickly  over  to  me,  staring  at  the  bundle 
in  my  arms,  and  I  kept  him  fascinated  by  the 
smile  I  wore.  I  can  command  the  look  in  my 
eyes  at  such  moments.  It 's  the  eyes  that  give 
away  a  secret.  You  can  see  the  change  of  mood, 
the  intention  to  deceive,  the  fear,  the  suspi- 
cion, the  decision  to  kill — but  even  in  those 
days  I  knew  how  to  guard  my  eyes.  Father 
Gast  looked  at  me,  and  I  smiled. 


194  The  Red  Lady 

"'Hist!'  I  said  to  him,  'I  have  something 
amusing  to  show  you.  Kneel  down  by  this 
opening  and  look  at  the  little  acolyte.  Lean 
forward.' 

*'  The  fool  obeyed.  He  knelt,  his  big  hands 
holding  to  the  edge  of  the  trap,  and  peered  into 
the  darkness  below.  I  let  the  door  of  the  trap 
fall.  It  was  a  square  of  solid  masonry,  easy 
enough  to  let  fall,  but  too  heavy  for  one  man 
to  lift  alone.  But  he  was  a  trifle  too  quick  for 
me,  drew  back  his  head  like  a  snake.  It  caught 
his  hands.  He  howled  like  a  dog.  I  tore  off  a 
fastening  of  the  Virgin's  robe  and  hid  it  in  his 
gown.  He  fainted  before  I  had  gone  out  of  the 
place. 

"I  had  a  hand-bag  and  a  waiting  droshky;  I 
packed  away  my  jewels  and  left  Moscow  by 
the  first  train.  I  went  to  Paris,  traveling  at 
speed  with  all  the  art  of  disguise  and  subter- 
fuge I  could  command.  Nevertheless,  on  my 
way  from  the  Gare  du  Nord  to  the  address 
Brane  had  given  me,  I  thought  that  I  was  be- 
ing followed.  Of  course,  I  gave  the  cocker  an- 
other number,  went  in  at  a  certain  house  I 
knew,  escaped  by  the  back,  and  made  my  way 
on  foot  to  Brane's  apartment,  unobserved.  They 
made  no  difficulty  about  admitting  me.  I  found 


The  Red  Lady  195 

everything  in  confusion.  Brane  had  packed  his 
boxes.  He  was  planning  a  journey."  She  laughed 
bitterly.  "I  did  n't  know  it  then,  but,  in  the  in- 
terval, he'd  met  this  little  black-eyed  Ameri- 
can woman  and  he  'd  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a 
bon  sujet.  He  was  going  to  give  me  the  slip.  I 
opened  one  of  his  boxes,  wrapped  up  my  booty 
in  a  dress-coat  of  his,  well  at  the  bottom,  and 
then  I  hid  myself.  I  wanted  to  spy  upon 
my  Englishman.  Brane  came  in,  locked  up  his 
luggage,  and  went  out  again  at  once.  He  was 
in  the  apartments  barely  five  minutes,  and  I 
never  saw  him  again  —  the  handsome,  good- 
for-nothing  devil!  I  waited  for  him  to  come 
back.  Presently  some  men  came  in  and  carried 
off  the  boxes.  I  waited  in  the  apartment  for 
several  hours,  but  my  lover  did  not  return.  He 
had  gone  to  America,  Janice  —  think  of  it ! 
with  that  treasure  in  his  box." 

The  candle,  which  had  been  flickering  for 
several  minutes,  here  went  out,  and  she  was 
busy  for  a  while,  taking  another  from  her 
pocket  and  lighting  it.  I  wondered  what  time 
it  was.  Surely  long  past  midnight.  The  minutes 
seemed  to  hurry  through  my  brain  on  wings  of 
fear.  If  only  she  would  sit  there,  talking,  talk- 
ing, telling  me  the  story  of  her  crimes,  till  day- 


196  The  Red  I^ady 

light !  Then  there  might  be  some  faint  hope  for 
me.  They  would  discover  my  absence,  they 
would  hunt.  I  might  be  able  to  work  the  hand- 
kerchief off  of  my  mouth  and  risk  a  cry  for  help. 
All  sorts  of  impossible  hopes  kept  darting  pain- 
fully through  my  despair.  They  were  infinitely 
more  agonizing  than  any  acceptance  of  fate, 
but  I  was  powerless  to  quiet  them.  Surely  they 
would  search  for  me;  surely  they  would  chance 
upon  that  hole  in  the  kitchen  closet;  surely 
God  would  lead  them  to  it!  Ah,  if  only  I  had 
told  Mary!  If  only  my  vanity  had  not  led  me 
to  trust  only  in  myself! 

''Now,  you  know  the  history  of  the  robe, 
Janice,"  began  the  woman  after  she  had  settled 
herself  again  at  my  side.  "The  treasure  that 
has  already  caused  three  deaths,  the  acolyte's, 
and  Robbie's,  and  —  yours, 

"I  can't  go  into  all  the  details  of  my  adven- 
tures after  I  left  Brane's  apartments.  I  soon 
found  that  he  had  been  married  and  had  gone 
to  America,  and  it  was  not  long  before  I  had 
his  address.  But  it  was  very  long,  a  lifetime, 
before  I  was  free  to  come  after  my  treasure. 
Other  adventures  intervened.  Other  people. 
I  wrote  some  threatening  letters,  but  Brane 
never  answered  them,  and  I  was  not  foolish 


The  Red  Lady  197 

enough  to  ruin  myself  by  trying  to  ruin  him.  I 
suppose  he  knew  that  and  felt  safe  in  ignoring 
my  attempts  at  blackmail  and  intimidation. 

"Well,  I  am  triumphant  now  —  to-night. 
How 's  that  for  a  moral  tale?  What  does  the 
Bible  say,  *the  ungodly  flourish  like  a  green 
bay-tree '  ? 

''But  you  will  be  interested  to  hear  how  I 
came  to  'The  Pines,'  hov\^  I  managed  to  hide 
myself  here,  how  I  rid  myself  of  those  three 
idiotic  housekeepers  and  brought  you  down 
to  take  their  place,  how  I  introduced  Maida 
and  Jaffrey,  how  I  worked  the  whole  affair.  I 
don't  know  how  much  you  know.  But  I  think 
there  are  several  things  that  may  surprise  you. 
Now,  listen;  we  have  still  several  hours.  You 
shall  have  the  story  —  you  alone,  Janice  — 
the  true  story  of  the  Pine  Cone  Mystery.  You 
are  my  father  confessor,  Janice.  My  secrets 
are  as  safe  with  you  to-night  as  though  I  whis- 
pered them  into  a  grave." 


I 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  WITCH  OF  THE  WALL 

HAD  news  of  Brane's  death  from  the  very 
priest  whose  hands  I  had  mutilated  in  the 
door  of  the  trap.  The  fellow  had  been  disci- 
plined, unfrocked,  driven  from  Russia,  where 
it  was  no  longer  possible  for  him  to  make  a  liv- 
ing, and,  as  my  method  is,  I  had  kept  in  touch 
with  him.  I  had  even  helped  him  to  make  a  sort 
of  fresh  start  —  oh,  by  no  means  an  honorable 
one  —  in  America,  and  purposely  I  'd  seen  to 
it  that  his  new  activities  should  keep  him  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Pine  Cone.  One  who  knows 
the  underworld  as  I  do,  Janice,  has  friends 
everywhere,  has  a  tool  to  her  hand  in  the  re- 
motest corners  of  the  earth.  Gast  was  my  spy 
on  Theodore  Brane;  Gast  and  the  Baron.  That 
nobleman,  upon  whom  I  dare  say  you  thought 
you  made  such  an  impression,  Janice,  was  at 
one  time  Theodore's  valet.  I  knew  him  for  a 
thief  in  the  old  days,  but  I  kept  him  in  the 
household  and  so  completely  in  subjection  that 
the  wretch  would  tremble  whenever  he  caught 
Day  eye.  He,  too,  came  over  to  this  country. 


The  Red  Lady  199 

and,  ostensibly,  his  business  became  that  of  a 
cabinet-maker,  a  dealer  in  old  furniture.  He  had 
other,  less  reputable,  business  on  the  side.  At 
various  times  Brane  bought  furniture  through 
him  —  Brane  was  always  ready  to  do  a  kind- 
ness to  his  inferiors.  It  was  through  the  Baron 
that  Theodore  got  possession  of  that  bookcase, 
the  one  with  the  double  back,  but  our  wily  ex- 
valet  did  n't  put  me  wise  to  the  possible  hiding- 
place,  —  even  after  I  let  him  know  that  Brane 
had  something  to  hide  —  till  I  had  bribed  him 
for  all  I  was  worth.  That  is,  he  never  did  put 
me  wise.  He  blabbed  his  secret  to  you.  It  was 
only  by  finding  you  on  your  knees  before  the 
shelves,  the  night  after  that  fool's  visit,  that  I 
guessed  he  'd  given  himself  away  to  my  double. 
Till  then  I  did  n't  realize  how  safe  I  was  in  de- 
pending upon  our  resemblance,  pretty  daugh- 
ter. But,  after  that  night,  I  amused  myself 
greatly  at  your  expense.  And  I  admit,  Janice,  I 
am  forced  to  admit,  that  you  amused  yourself 
at  mine.  I  had  no  notion  till  to-night  that  you 
had  dared  to  use  Maida,  to  question  her,  to 
force  her  to  write  notes !  And  then,  to  write  to 
Gast,  to  meet  him,  to  get  his  translation  and 
to  destroy  it  —  Dieu !  you  have  some  courage, 
some  wit,  my  girl!" 


200  The  Red  Lady 

Her  tone  of  pride,  of  complete  power  set  my 
heart  on  fire  with  anger,  so  that  for  a  moment, 
I  even  lost  my  fear. 

''Who  found  that  letter  of  Cast's  under  the 
arbor  seat?  Whoever  it  was  —  I  suppose  it 
must  have  been  you  —  put  me  into  a  rage  that 
was  like  enough  to  drive  me  to  any  sort  of  vio- 
lence. It  was  the  last  force  of  it  that  you  felt 
in  the  woods  that  afternoon.  Dieu!  I  suffered 
from  that  anger.  To  lie  closed  up  in  the  wall, 
gnawing  my  own  vitals,  helpless,  and  to  know 
that  you  had  got  the  clue,  that  you  would  per- 
haps be  making  use  of  it!  It  was  lucky  for  me 
that  Jaffrey  mentioned  in  my  hearing  the  trip 
that  you  were  planning  to  Pine  Cone.  I  en- 
joyed thrashing  you,  Janice,  and  I  enjoyed  my 
little  game  at  your  friend  Dabney's  expense. 
.  .  .  But  I  am  going  too  fast,  I  must  get  back  to 
the  beginning  again.  What  are  you  shaking  for 
now.f^  Scared.'^  No,  I  believe  you're  angry." 

She  peered  into  my  burning  face,  and  met 
the  look,  which  must  have  been  a  hateful  one, 
blazing  in  my  eyes. 

Remember,  my  dear,"  she  said  tauntingly, 

that  it  behooves  you  to  be  in  charity  with  all 
the  world." 

Indeed,  it  was  not  the  least  of  my  torments 


a 


The  Red  Lady  201 

on  that  terrible  night  to  know  that  the  last 
images  to  possess  my  brain  should  be  such  hor- 
rid ones,  of  treachery,  and  cruelty,  and  murder. 
Sometimes  I  thought  I  would  close  my  eyes  to 
her,  shut  out  her  presence  from  my  mind,  but 
the  feat  was  impossible.  I  was  too  greatly  fas- 
cinated by  her  smooth,  sweet  voice,  by  her 
vital  presence,  by  the  interest  of  her  story. 

"As  I  was  telling  you,"  she  went  on,  "it  was 
through  Father  Gast  that  I  heard  of  Brane's 
sudden  death.  It  gave  me  the  fright  of  my  life, 
for  I  thought  he  must  have  told  about  the  treas- 
ures to  his  wife.  Gast  swore  that  the  English- 
man had  n't  the  courage  to  make  use  of  his 
trove  any  more  than  he  had  the  courage  to 
confess  its  whereabouts,  but  I  decided  that 
there  was  no  time  to  lose.  Mrs.  Brane  might 
have  a  bolder  spirit. 

"I  came  over  to  this  country  disguised  as 
a  meek,  brown-haired  young  widow,  named 
Mrs.  Gaskell,  and  I  rented  a  room  above  the 
Pine  Cone  drug-store.  This  was  last  fall,  about 
two  months  after  Theodore  Brane's  death. 

"Ask  Mrs.  Brane  some  time  —  oh,  I  forgot, 
you  are  not  apt  to  see  her  again  —  no  doubt, 
if  you  did  ask  her,  she  would  tell  you  about  the 
dear,  sweet  woman  who  brought  her  little  run- 


202  The  Red  Lady 

away  Robbie  home  one  afternoon  and  took  a 
friendly  cup  of  tea  with  her.  Yes,  and  learned 
in  about  half  an  hour  —  only  this  the  silly,  lit- 
tle chatter-box  would  n't  admit  —  more  about 
the  habits  of  her  husband  and  about  her  own 
life  and  plans  and  character  than  most  of  the 
detectives  I  've  hoodwinked  could  have  learned 
in  a  month.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  Mrs.  Gaskell, 
and  for  Mrs.  Gaskell's  popularity  with  Rob- 
bie's nurse,  and  for  Mrs.  Gaskell's  skill  in  win- 
ning Robbie's  confidence,  I  should  never  have 
learned  about  that  hole  in  the  kitchen  closet. 

"Mary  was  n't  Robbie's  nurse  in  those  days. 
Oh,  no,  my  task  would  n't  have  been  so  easy 
in  that  case.  He  was  being  cared  for  by  a  hap- 
py-go-lucky negro  woman  from  whom  he  ran 
away  about  twice  a  week.  She  had  a  passion  for 
driving  over  to  Pine  Cone  every  time  George 
went  for  supplies,  and  she  was  only  too  willing 
to  leave  her  charge  with  Mrs.  Gaskell,  who  did 
so  adore  little  children.  From  that  girl  I  learned 
all  about  the  habits  of  'The  Pines'  household, 
and  from  Robbie  himself  I  got  the  clue  of  clues. 

"I  understood  that  child.  I  could  play  upon 
him  as  though  he  had  been  a  little  instrument 
of  strings.  He  was  the  kind  of  secretive,  sensi- 
tive little  animal  that  can  be  opened  up  or  shut 


The  Red  Lady  203 

tight  at  will.  A  harsh  look  would  scare  him  into 
a  deaf-mute,  a  little  kindness  would  set  him 
chattering.  I  asked  him  questions  about  the 
house:  where  his  father  had  worked  and  spent 
most  of  his  time;  where  he  himself  played; 
what,  especially,  were  his  favorite  play-places. 
He  told  me  there  were  lots  of  closets  in  the 
house,  but  that  he  was  '  scared  of  dark  closets/ 
and  he  was  'most  scared  of  the  closet  under 
the  kitchen  stairs.'  I  asked  him  why,  and  he 
told  me  a  long  story  about  going  in  there  and 
finding  his  father  bent  over  at  one  end  of  it  — 
one  of  those  mixed-up,  garbled  accounts  that 
children  give;  but  I  gathered  that  his  father 
had  been  vexed  at  the  child's  intrusion,  and  had 
told  him  to  keep  out  of  the  kitchen  and  out 
of  the  kitchen  closet.  It  was  the  faintest  sort 
of  clue,  a  mere  will-o'-the-wisp,  but  I  decided 
to  follow  it  up. 

''One  day,  when  I  knew  that  all  the  servants 
at  'The  Pines'  were  off  to  a  county  fair,  I  met 
with  Robbie  and  his  nurse,  and  easily  per- 
suaded the  girl  to  let  me  take  her  charge  back 
to  'The  Pines'  while  she  joined  the  other  holi- 
day-seekers. Robbie  and  I  got  a  lift,  and  we 
were  dropped  at  'The  Pines'  gate.  I  asked  him 
to  take  me  up  to  the  house  by  a  short  cut,  and 


204  The  Red  Lady 

in  through  the  kitchen  garden.  I  told  him  to 
pick  me  a  nice  nosegay  of  flowers,  and  I  went 
in  to  get  a  'drink  of  water.'  The  kitchen  was 
empty,  and  I  lost  no  time  in  slipping  into  the 
small  kitchen  closet.  I  saw  at  once  that  it  had 
been  purposely  crowded  with  heavy  stuff,  and 
I  began  to  search  it.  Of  course  I  found  the  hole; 
I  even  went  into  the  hollow  wall  here,  and  ex- 
plored the  whole  passage.  Dieu !  I  was  excited, 
pleased !  I  knew  that  I  was  on  the  track  of  my 
treasure.  And  I  saw  how  easy  it  would  be  for 
some  one  to  hide  in  that  wall,  and  live  there 
comfortably  enough  for  an  indefinite  time.  I 
had  what  I'd  come  for,  and  I  decided  that 
Mrs.  Gaskell's  stay  in  Pine  Cone  would  come 
to  an  end  that  night. 

"It  was  disconcerting  to  hear  Robbie's  voice 
calling,  'Mithith  Gathkell,  where  are  you.^  I 
was  still  in  the  passageway,  but  I  crawled 
through  that  hole  in  a  hurry  —  too  late !  I  met 
Robbie  face  to  face.  He  'd  come  to  find  me,  and 
was  standing  timidly  in  the  closet  doorway 
with  his  hands  full  of  flowers.  I  knew  that  I 
should  have  to  tie  up  his  tongue  for  good  and 
all.  I  fixed  him  with  my  eyes,  and  let  my  face 
change  till  it  must  have  looked  like  the  face 
of  the  worst  witch  in  the  worst  old  fairy-tale 


The  Red  Lady  205 

he  'd  ever  heard,  and  then,  still  staring  at  him, 
I  slowly  lifted  off  my  brown  wig  and  I  drew  up 
my  own  red  hair  till  it  almost  touched  the  top 
of  the  kitchen  closet.  And  I  said,  *Grrrrrrrrr! 
I  'm  the  witch  that  lives  under  the  stairs !  I  'm 
the  witch  that  lives  under  the  stairs!'  in  the 
worst  voice  I  could  get  out  of  my  throat,  a  sort 
of  suckling  gobble  it  was,  pretty  bad!" 

She  laughed,  and  again  my  rage  and  hatred 
overwhelmed  my  fear.  "I  had  to  run  at  him, 
and  put  my  hand  over  his  mouth  or  he  'd  have 
raised  the  roof  with  his  screams.  I  got  my  wig 
on  again,  and  I  carried  him  out  into  the  gar- 
den, and  I  told  him  that  if  ever  he  went  near 
that  closet  or  even  whispered  to  any  one  that 
he'd  seen  that  red-haired  w^oman,  I'd  tell  her 
to  come  and  stand  by  his  bed  at  night  and  stick 
her  face  down  at  him  till  he  was  all  smothered 
by  her  long  red  hair.  He  was  all  confused  and 
trembling.  I  don't  know  what  he  thought.  He 
seemed  to  imagine  that  Mrs.  Gaskell  and  the 
witch  were  two  distinct  people,  but,  at  any 
rate,  he  was  scared  out  of  his  little  wits,  and  I 
knew  when  I  got  through  with  him  that  wild 
horses  would  n't  tear  the  story  of  that  expe- 
rience out  of  him.  Children  are  like  that,  you 
know." 


£06  The  Red  Lady 

I  did  know,  and  I  lay  there  and  cursed  her 
in  my  heart.  I  thought  of  what  agonies  the 
poor  Httle  child  had  suffered  in  the  mysterious 
silence  of  his  baby  mind  —  that  pitiful,  terri- 
ble silence  of  childhood  that  has  covered  so 
many  cruelties,  so  much  unspeakable  fear, 
since  the  childhood  of  the  human  race  began. 
My  heart,  crushed  as  it  was,  ached  for  little 
Robbie,  sickened  for  him.  I  would  have  given 
so  much  to  hold  him  in  my  arms,  and  comfort 
him,  and  reassure  his  little  shaken  soul.  God 
willing,  he  was  happy  now,  and  reassured  past 
all  the  powers  of  earth  or  hell  to  disturb  his 
beautiful  serenity. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  SECOND  CANDLE 

THE  next  morning  "  —  again  I  was  listening 
to  the  story — "  Mrs.  Gaskell  left  Pine  Cone 
to  the  regret  of  all  its  inhabitants.  I  doubt  if 
ever  there  has  been  a  more  popular  summer 
visitor.  And  not  many  days  afterwards,  a 
gypsy  woman  came  to  'The  Pines'  to  peddle 
cheap  jewelry.  Old  Delia  was  in  the  kitchen, 
and  old  Delia  refused  to  take  any  interest  in 
the  wares.  She  told  the  woman  to  clear  out, 
but  she  refused  to  go  until  she  had  been  prop- 
erly dismissed  by  the  lady  of  the  house.  At 
last,  to  get  rid  of  her,  Delia  went  off  to  speak 
to  her  mistress,  and  no  sooner  had  she  closed 
the  door,  than  the  gypsy  slipped  across  the 
kitchen,  and  got  herself  into  that  closet.  And 
the  odd  part  of  it  is,  that  she  never  came  out. 
When  Delia  returned  with  more  emphatic  or- 
ders of  dismissal,  the  peddling  gypsy  had  gone. 
Nobody  had  seen  her  leave  the  place,  but  that 
did  not  cause  much  distress  to  any  one  but  Mrs. 
Brane.  I  think  that  she  was  disturbed;  at  least 
I  know  that  she  ordered  a  thorough  search  of 


208  *      The  Red  Lady 

the  house  and  grounds,  for  footsteps  were  run- 
ning all  about  everywhere  that  day^  and  lights 
were  kept  burning  in  the  house  all  night.  I 
think,  perhaps,  some  of  the  negroes  sat  up  to 
keep  watch.  But  the  peddler  made  not  so  much 
as  a  squeak  that  night.  She  lay  on  a  pile  of 
blankets  she  had  carried  in  on  her  back,  and 
she  ate  a  crust  of  bread  and  an  apple.  She  was 
sufficiently  comfortable,  and  very  much  pleased 
with  herself.  Towards  morning  she  went  to 
sleep  and  slept  far  into  the  next  day. 

"  So  you  see,  Janice,  there  I  was  in  the  house, 
and  I  was  sure  that  not  far  from  me  was  Brane's 
treasure  trove.  This  double  wall  of  which  he 
had  evidently  made  use  —  he  had  built  up 
that  queer  flight  of  steps  and  made  a  floor  and 
an  inclined  plane  —  convinced  me  that  I  was 
hot  on  the  track  of  the  jewels.  You  can  guess 
how  I  worked  to  find  them.  All  to  no  purpose.  I 
had  to  be  very  careful.  Rats,  to  be  sure,  make  a 
noise  in  the  walls  of  old  houses,  but  the  noise  is 
barely  noticeable,  and  it  does  not  sound  like 
carpentry.  However,  I  had  convinced  myself, 
by  the  end  of  the  third  dreary  day,  that  if  the 
robe  and  crown  were  hidden  in  the  double  wall, 
they  were  very  secretly  and  securely  hidden, 
and  that  I  should  need  some  further  directions 


The  Red  Lady  209 

to  find  them.  It  was  annoying,  especially  as 
my  provisions  had  given  out,  and  I  knew  that 
I  should  have  to  venture  down  into  the  kitchen 
at  night  and  pick  up  some  fragments  of  food. 
I  was  glad  then  and  all  the  time,  that  Mrs. 
Brane's  servants  were  such  decrepit  old  bodies, 
half -blind  and  half-deaf,  and  altogether  stupid. 
Many  's  the  time  I  Ve  crouched  behind  the 
junk  in  that  closet  and  listened  to  their  silly 
droning!  But  it  gave  me  a  sad  jump  when 
I  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Brane's  first  house- 
keeper. 

"She  was  young  and  nervous,  and  had  a 
high,  breathless  manner  of  talking,  and  she  was 
bent  upon  efficiency.  Well,  so  was  I.  I  had  de- 
cided that,  outside  of  the  wall,  there  were  two 
rooms  in  the  Brane  house  that  must  be  thor- 
oughly investigated  —  the  bookroom  where 
Theodore  kept  his  collection  of  Russian  books, 
and  the  room  upstairs  in  the  north  wing  which 
he  had  used  as  a  sort  of  den,  and  which,  after 
his  death,  Mrs.  Brane  had  converted  into  a 
nursery.  I  think  she  must  have  had  a  case  of 
nerves  after  her  husband's  death,  for  she  was 
set  on  having  a  housekeeper  and  a  new  nurse 
for  Robbie,  and  she  was  always  flitting  about 
that  house  like  a  ghost.  Maybe,  after  all,  he  had 


210  The  Red  Lady 

dropped  her  a  hint  about  some  money  or  jewels 
being  hidden  somewhere  in  the  house !  That  was 
Maida's  notion,  for  she  says  Mrs.  Brane  was  as 
keen  as  *  Sara'  about  cleaning  out  the  old  part 
of  the  house,  and  never  left  her  alone  an  instant. 

*'To  get  back  to  the  first  days  I  spent  in  this 
accursed  wall  .  .  .  that  housekeeper  gave  me  a 
lot  of  misery.  In  the  first  place,  she  slept  in  the 
north  wing,  the  room  you  had,  Janice,"  —  I 
was  almost  accustomed  to  this  horrible  past 
tense  she  used  towards  me;  I  was  beginning  to 
think  of  my  own  life  as  a  thing  that  was  over 
— ''  and  she  was  a  terribly  light  sleeper.  Twice, 
as  I  was  sneaking  along  that  passageway  trying 
to  locate  the  rooms,  she  came  out  with  a  candle 
in  her  hand,  and  all  but  saw  me.  I  decided  that 
my  only  chance  to  really  search  the  place  lay 
in  getting  rid  of  the  inhabitants  of  that  north- 
ern wing.  I  thought,  perhaps,  I  could  give  that 
part  of  the  house  a  bad  name.  Once  it  was 
empty,  I  could  practically  live  there.  I  had  n't 
reckoned  with  that  bull-dog  of  a  Mary. 

*'It  was  easy  enough  to  scare  the  house- 
keeper. I  found  out  just  where  the  wall  of  her 
bedroom  stood,  and  I  got  close  behind  it  near 
her  bed  and  groaned.  That  was  quite  enough. 
Two  nights,  and  the  miserable  thing  left.  Mrs. 


The  Red  Lady  211 

Brane  got  another  woman  at  once,  a  lazy, 
absent-minded  woman,  and  I  wasted  no  time 
getting  rid  of  her.  I  simply  stole  near  to  her 
bed  one  pitch-black  night,  and  sighed.  She  left 
almost  at  once. 

"Then  Mrs.  Brane,  confound  her!  sent  to 
New  York  to  Skane  for  a  detective,  and  he 
played  house-boy  for  a  fortnight.  I  had  to  keep 
as  still  as  a  mouse.  I  was  almost  starved,  for 
I  did  n't  dare  take  enough  food  to  hoard,  and 
for  a  while  that  detective  prowled  the  house 
all  night.  I  must  have  come  near  looking  like 
a  ghost  in  those  days.  Thank  God,  the  entire 
quiet  bored  Skane's  man,  and  reassured  the 
rest  of  the  household.  When  he  had  gone  I 
did  n't  try  ghost-tricks  for  sometime.  I  fed  my- 
self up,  and  did  a  little  night-prowling,  down 
in  the  bookroom,  and  in  some  of  the  empty 
bedrooms,  with  no  result.  Then  came  the  third 
housekeeper. 

"That  third  housekeeper,  my  dear  daughter, 
all  but  did  for  me.  She  was  a  fussy  little  female 
with  the  sort  of  energy  that  goes  prying  about 
for  unnecessary  pieces  of  labor.  And  she  lit 
upon  the  kitchen  closet.  Fortunately,  Delia  and 
the  other  two  women  were  so  annoyed  by  her 
methods  that  they  did  n't  take  up  her  instruc- 


212  The  Red  Lady 

tions  to  clean  out  the  closet  with  any  zeal. 
So,  one  morning,  I  heard  her  in  the  kitchen 
scolding  and  carrying  on,  '  You  lazy  women, 
I  '11  just  have  to  shame  you  by  doing  it  my- 
self.' 

''Now,  while  I  crouched  there,  listening  to 
her,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  heard  her 
voice  before.  I  racked  my  frightened  brains.  I 
had  never  seen  the  woman,  but  I  was  certain 
that  the  voice,  a  peculiar  one,  belonged  some- 
where in  my  memory.  I  decided  there  might  be 
some  useful  association.  I  risked  coming  into 
the  closet,  and  taking  a  look.  Then  I  fled  back 
and  laughed  to  myself.  I  had  known  that  little 
wax-face  when  she  was  a  very  great  somebody's 
maid,  and  I  knew  enough  about  her  to  send  her 
to  the  chair.  Was  n't  it  luck!  I  went  back  into 
my  hole,  for  all  the  world  like  a  spider,  and  sat 
there  waiting  for  my  prey. 

"She  did  a  lot  of  clattering  around  in  the 
closet;  then,  I  knew  by  the  silence,  that  she'd 
lit  upon  the  hole.  I  crept  near,  and  waited  for 
her,  crouched  in  the  dark.  She  came  crawling 
through  the  hole  —  I  can  see  her  silly,  pale, 
dust-streaked  face  now!  I  pounced  upon  her 
with  all  the  swiftness  and  the  silence  of  a  long- 
legged  tarantula.  I  stopped  her  mouth  before 


The  Red  Lady  213 

she  could  squeal,  and  I  carried  her  back  to  the 
end  of  the  passage  here,  and  I  talked  to  her  for 
about  five  seconds.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
every  bone  in  her  body  had  turned  to  water. 
She  had  sworn  as  though  to  God  to  hold  her 
tongue,  and  to  get  out  of  the  house;  to  keep  her 
mouth  shut  forever  and  ever,  amen.  And  I  let 
her  go.  She  scuttled  out  of  the  closet  like  a  rat, 
and  I  heard  her  tell  Delia  to  leave  the  place 
alone.  The  third  housekeeper  left  the  next  day, 
and,  as  I  heard  by  listening  to  kitchen  gossip, 
she  gave  no  reason  for  her  going. 

"But,  of  course,  I  had  had  a  terrible  ex- 
perience myself.  I  was  n't  going  to  risk  any- 
thing like  that  again.  Besides,  I  was  sick  of 
living  in  the  wall.  I  got  out  that  night  —  half 
the  time  Delia  forgot  to  lock  the  outside  door, 
and  always  blamed  her  own  carelessness  when 
she  f  oimd  it  open  in  the  morning.  I  had  decent 
clothes  with  me,  and  I  tramped  to  a  station 
at  some  distance,  and  went  up  to  New  York. 
I  'd  decided  to  take  a  few  of  my  pals  in  on  the 
game.  I  had  several  old  pals  in  New  York,  and 
some  introductions.  It's  a  first-class  city  for 
crooks,  almost  as  good  as  London,  and  not 
half  so  well  policed.  And  there,  my  girl,  I  took 
the  trouble  of  hunting  you  up. 


214  The  Red  Lady 

"It  was  n't  because  I  meant  to  use  you  at 
*The  Pines.'  It  was  just  out  of  curiosity  — 
motherly  love"  —  I  wish  I  could  describe  the 
drawling  irony  of  the  expression  on  her  lips. 
"You  are  one  of  the  people  I've  kept  track  of. 
I  always  felt  you  might  be  useful,  that  I  might 
be  able  to  frighten  you  into  usefulness.  Many 's 
the  time  I  've  seen  you  when  you  were  a  child, 
and,  later,  when  you  were  working  in  Paris. 
Not  much  more  than  a  child  then,  but  such  a 
slim,  little,  white-faced  beauty.  What  was  it, 
the  work?  Oh,  yes,  you  were  a  little  assistant 
milliner,  and  you  turned  down  the  chance  of 
being  Monsieur  le  Baron's  maitresse,  and  lost 
your  job  for  the  reward  of  virtue  —  little  fool ! 
I  knew  you  had  gone  to  America,  but  I  had 
lost  track  of  your  whereabouts.  I  soon  picked 
up  your  tracks,  though,  and  found  out  that 
you  were  in  New  York  looking  for  work. 
Your  beauty  has  been  against  you,  Janice;  it 's 
always  against  moral  and  correct  living.  It's 
a  great  help  in  going  to  the  devil  and  beating 
him  at  his  own  game,  however,  as  you  might 
discover  if  I  were  immoral  enough  to  let  you 
live.  The  instant  I  set  eyes  on  you  in  New  York 
and  saw  what  a  ridiculous  copy  of  your  mother 
you  had  grown  to  be,  I  felt  that  here  was  an 


The  Red  Lady  215 

opportunity  of  some  sort  if  I  could  only  make 
use  of  it.  I  racked  my  brains,  and,  as  usual, 
the  inspiration  came. 

"I  got  Mrs.  Brane's  advertisement,  so  far 
unanswered,  and  I  handed  it  to  you  myself 
in  the  street.  As  soon  as  I  was  sure  that  you 
had  got  the  job,  I  left  for  *The  Pines.'  I  slip- 
ped in  like  a  thief  at  night,  one  of  the  nights 
when  Delia  forgot  to  lock  the  back  door.  I 
had  shadowed  you  pretty  closely  those  days 
between  the  time  you  answered  the  advertise- 
ment, and  left  for  'The  Pines,'  and  it  was  n't 
a  difficult  matter  for  me  to  get  a  copy  of  your 
wardrobe.  You  don't  know  what  a  help  it  was 
to  me  that  you  chose  a  sort  of  uniform.  I 
knew  that  you  'd  be  wearing  one  of  those  four 
gray  dresses  most  of  the  time. 

"After  you  were  in  the  house,  I  grew  pretty 
bold,  and  it  was  then  I  decided  to  get  Robbie 
out  of  that  nursery.  So  I  made  myself  up  as  the 
witch  that  lives  under  the  stairs,  and  waked 
him  by  bending  down  over  his  bed  with  my 
hair  hanging  in  his  face.  I  was  nearly  caught  at 
it,  too,  by  Mary,  and  I  scared  the  old  women 
out  of  the  house  —  which  I  had  n't  in  the 
least  intended  to  do. 

"I  did  n't  haK  like  Mrs.  Brane's  plan  of 


216  The  Red  Lady 

getting  a  man  and  wife  to  take  the  place  of  the 
old  women,  and  I  saw  at  once  the  necessity 
for  Jaffrey  and  Maida.  However,  I  was  de- 
termined not  to  let  them  know  that  there  were 
two  red-haired  women  in  the  house.  I  was 
fascinated  by  this  plan  of  using  you,  Janice, 
of  getting  witnesses  to  swear  to  your  identity 
as  Madame  Treme,  of  baiting  a  trap  —  with 
you  for  bait  —  into  which  all  of  my  accom- 
plices would  tumble,  as  they  have  tumbled, 
and,  then,  as  a  last  stroke,  putting  an  end  to 
you  and  making  a  clean  get-away  myself.  If 
any  one  swings  for  your  murder,  it  will  be 
Maida,  who  left  'The  Pines'  so  hurriedly  and 
secretly  to-night. 

"There's  another  reason  why  I  did  n't  take 
them  into  the  secret  of  your  resemblance:  I 
was  glad  to  have  them  fancy  themselves  al- 
ways under  my  eye.  The  risk  of  their  giving 
themselves  away  to  you  was  very  small,  for 
I  had  arranged  a  signal,  without  which  they 
were  positively  forbidden  to  show  by  sign,  or 
look,  or  word,  even  when  they  seemed  to  be 
alone  with  me,  that  they  had  any  collusion 
with  Mrs.  Brane's  housekeeper,  that  they 
thought  her  anything  in  the  world  but  Mrs. 
Brane's  housekeeper.  I  have  my  tools  pretty 


The  Red  Lady  217 

well  scared,  Janice,  and  I  knew  they  would 
obey  my  orders  to  the  letter." 

In  this  Madame  was  wrong.  Maida  and 
Jaffrey  had  both  disobeyed  this  order.  With 
no  signal  from  me,  they  had  spoken  in  their 
own  character  to  me  as  though  I  had  indeed 
been  Madame  Treme.  Like  the  plans  of  most 
generals,  Madame's  plans  had  their  weak 
points. 

"You  know  how  it  all  worked,"  she  went 
on,  unconscious  of  my  mental  connotations, 
"  and,  then,  sacre  nom  de  Dieu!  came  '  Dabney' ! 

"God!  How  the  rats  scuttled  in  the  house 
the  night  after  he  came!  I  had  Maida  to  thank 
for  putting  me  wise.  That  innocent-faced,  slim 
youngster,  with  his  air  of  begging-off  pun- 
ishment —  I  admit,  he'd  have  given  me  very 
little  uneasiness.  You  see  — " 

As  she  talked  I  had  been  watching  her  with 
the  fixity  of  my  despair,  but,  a  few  moments 
before  this  last  speech  of  hers  concerning  Dab- 
ney, the  flickering  of  the  light  across  her  face 
had  drawn  my  attention  to  the  second  candle. 
It  had  burned  for  more  than  half  its  length, 
and  I  knew  that  morning  was  at  hand. 

Morning,  and  a  faint  hope!  The  story  was 
not  finished,  and,  though  1  thought  I  could  tell 


218  The  Red  Lady 

the  rest  myself,  the  woman  was  so  absorbed  in 
the  dehghtful  contemplation  of  her  triumph 
and  her  cleverness,  that  I  knew  she  would  go 
on  to  the  end.  The  wild,  resurgent  hope  deaf- 
ened me  for  a  few  minutes  to  her  low  murmur 
of  narration.  It  had  come  to  me  like  a  flash 
that,  with  my  legs  unbound,  I  might  be  able 
to  knock  over  the  candle,  put  it  out,  get  to  my 
feet  in  one  lightning  spring,  and  make  a  dash 
for  the  hole  in  the  closet.  Would  there  not  be 
a  chance  of  my  reaching  it  alive  .^  Would  not 
the  noise  of  my  flight,  in  spite  of  my  stocking 
feet  and  the  handkerchief  over  my  mouth, 
be  enough  to  attract  the  attention  even  of  a 
sleeping  house,  much  more  certainly,  of  an 
awakened  and  suspicious  one.?  It  was,  of  course 
a  desperate  hope,  but  I  could  not  help  but 
entertain  it.  If  I  could  force  myself  to  wait 
till  morning  had  surely  come,  till  there  was 
the  stir  and  murmur  of  awakening  life,  surely 
—  oh,  dear  God !  —  surely,  there  might  be 
one  little  hope  of  life.  I  was  young  and  strong 
and  active.  I  must  not  die  here  in  this  horrible 
wall.  I  must  not  bear  the  infamy  of  this  woman's 
guilt.  I  must  not  lie  dead  and  unspeakably 
defiled  in  the  sight  of  the  man  I  loved. 

Paul  Dabney's  face,  haggard,  wistful,  ap- 


The  Red  Lady  219 

peared  before  me,  and  my  whole  heart  cried 
out  to  its  gray  and  doubting  eyes  for  help,  for 
pity,  for  belief. 

Unluckily,  the  woman,  sensitive  as  a  cat, 
had  become  aware  of  the  changed  current  of 
my  thought,  of  the  changed  direction  of  my 
look.  She,  too,  glanced  at  the  candle  and  gave 
a  little  exclamation  of  dismay  that  stabbed  the 
silence  like  a  suddenly  bared  knife. 

"Bah!"  she  said,  "it  must  be  daylight, 
and  I  have  n't  half  confessed  myself.  Pests  on 
the  time!  We've  been  here  four  or  five  hours. 
Are  you  cramped.^" 

I  was  insufferably  cramped.  The  pain  of  my 
arms  and  shoulders,  the  cutting  of  the  twine 
about  my  wrists,  were  torment.  I  was  very 
thirsty,  too.  But  nothing  was  so  cruel  as  the 
sinking  of  my  heart  which  her  words  caused 


me. 


I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  cut  it  short," 
she  said.  *' After  all,  you  must  know  it  almost 
as  well  as  I  do,  especially  since  you  had  the 
nerve  to  play  my  part  with  Maida.  The  worst 
trick  you  put  over  on  me  was  when  you  pulled 
Dabney  out  of  the  mud  —  curse  the  mud, 
anyway;  if  it  had  been  a  real  quicksand  he'd 
have  been  done  for;  but  his  getting  back  alive 


220  The  Red  Lady 

that  night  certainly  crossed  me,  and,  as  for 
Maida,  she  was  in  a  devil's  rage.  She  could  n't 
understand  how  he  'd  escaped.  She  cursed,  and 
raved,  and  threatened  even  me.  It  was  all  that 
Jaffrey  and  I  could  do  to  hold  her;  she  was  for 
giving  up  the  whole  game  and  making  a  get- 
away before  it  was  too  late.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  was  already  too  late  for  any  one  but  me. 
Hovey  had  you  all  just  where  he  wanted  you. 
At  any  instant  he  could  bag  you  all.  I  had 
known  that  for  some  time.  If  it  had  n't  been 
for  your  beaux  yeux,  Janice,  and  a  little  bit, 
perhaps,  because  of  my  own  pretty  ways,  all 
of  you  would  be  jailed  by  now.  After  you'd 
rescued  your  Dabney,  I  had  to  play  a  bold, 
prompt  game.  I  knew  that  the  spell  could  n't 
hold  much  longer.  I  could  see  by  the  strained 
look  on  that  boy's  face  that  he  was  at  the 
snapping  point.  I  told  Maida  to  search  the 
bookcase  that  night.  Action  of  some  kind  was 
necessary  to  keep  her  in  hand.  I  did  n't  know 
that  you  had  already  taken  away  the  paper. 
Gast  had  told  me  about  the  paper  when  I  was 
in  New  York,  and  the  Baron  had  hinted  at  its 
possible  hiding-place.  He  came  down  here 
that  day  to  tell  me  —  I  'd  bribed  him  for  all  I 
was  worth.  He  was  going  to  leave  word  with 


The  Red  Lady  221 

Maida.  Then,  of  course,  he  saw  you  and  the 
poor  fool  thought  I  was  playing  housekeeper, 
under  '  Dabney's '  very  nose. 

"The  night  after  Dabney's  rescue,  after 
you  'd  saved  his  life  at  the  risk  of  your  own,  I 
whistled  him  mto  the  arbor  under  your  win- 
dow and  kissed  him  for  you.  Were  your  maiden 
dreams  disturbed?  —  No,  no,  my  girl,  don't 
try  to  get  your  hands  free"  —  for  in  my  anger 
at  her  words  I  had  begun  to  wrench  at  my 
bonds  —  "you'll  just  cut  your  wrists  to  the 
bone.  Eh,  did  n't  I  tell  you.^"  I  felt  the  blood 
run  down  my  hands,  and  stopped,  gasping 
with  pain.  She  went  on  as  coolly  as  before.  "I 
found  out  that  night,  when  Maida  came  to  me 
in  the  wall  v/ith  her  bad  news,  that  you'd  got 
ahead  of  us.  I  was  n't  so  much  scared  as  I 
might  have  been,  for  I  knew  that  Brane  had 
had  his  directions  translated  into  the  Slavonic 
tongue;  I  suppose  the  poor,  cracked  fool  did 
it  to  protect  his  treasure  from  accidental  dis- 
covery. He  was  crazed  by  having  all  that 
money  in  his  possession,  and  not  being  bold 
enough  to  use  it.  All  his  actions  prove  that  his 
mind  was  quite  unbalanced.  He  just  spun  a 
fantastic  web  of  mystery  about  the  hidden 
stuff  because  he  had  n't  the  nerve  to  do  any- 


222  The  Red  Lady 

thing  else.  I  imagine  he  meant  to  tell  his  wife, 
but  he  died  suddenly  of  paralysis,  and  was  n't 
able  to  do  so.  He'd  hired  a  priest  to  help  him 
with  the  paper,  and  Gast,  shadowing  my  for- 
mer lover,  and  knowing  that  he  had  the  robe 
and  crown,  managed  to  find  out  what  he  'd 
been  doing.  Gast  did  n't  get  the  substance  of 
the  paper,  but  he  learned  from  the  priest  that 
an  eccentric  Englishman,  writing  a  story  of 
adventure,  had  asked  him  to  translate  a  para- 
graph into  Old  Russian.  Gast  handed  on  this 
information  to  me,  and  promised  to  translate 
the  paragraph  when  I  was  lucky  enough  to 
find  it. 

"Janice,  when  I  found  out  that  I'd  been 
fool  enough  to  lose  Gast's  letter,  which  he'd 
sent  to  me  through  Maida,  and  by  losing  it, 
had  put  the  means  of  getting  a  translation 
into  your  hands,  I  gnawed  my  fingers!  I  was 
half  mad  then.  When  you  made  your  first  trip 
to  Pine  Cone,  and  Dabney  had  you  shadowed 
so  closely  that  I  could  n't  follow  you  myself  — 
I  knew  that  you  were  sending  Gast  a  letter. 
I  was  n't  sure  you  'd  dare  to  meet  him,  though. 
I  thought  you  might  risk  sending  him  the 
paper.  I  risked  my  own  life  by  bribing  George 
to  leave  you  in  Pine  Cone  to  foot  it  home  alone. 


The  Red  Lady  ns 

and  I  risked  it  again  by  following  you  and 
laying  that  trap  for  you  in  the  woods.  I  risked 
it  because  I  was  certain  that  you  would  have 
the  translation  hidden  in  your  dress.  I  pushed 
the  pine  tree  over  after  George  had  passed;  it 
needed  only  a  push.  Nom  de  Dieu!  You  cannot 
know  what  frenzy  seized  me  when  I  found  out 
that  again  you  had  outwitted  me.  I  wanted  to 
kill  you  that  day.  I  wanted  to  beat  you  to 
death  there,  and  leave  you  dead.  But  you  were 
a  little  too  valuable.  I  decided  to  cripple  you, 
to  put  you  out  of  running  for  a  few  days  while 
I  got  hold  of  the  fool  priest  myself.  That  was 
only  yesterday,  but  it  seems  an  age.  You  must 
be  made  of  iron,  Janice!  You  came  near  de- 
feating me  to-night  —  the  insolence  of  it! 
You,  a  chit  of  a  girl! 

"This  morning  I  gave  Maida  a  letter  for 
Gast,  and  I  thought  it  was  to  mail  it  that  she 
went  out  after  supper  to-night.  When  1  found 
her  note  under  my  plate  I  had  a  shock.  I  was 
sure  she  had  found  out  something  important. 
I  went  down  to  the  bridge.  Yes.  You  may  have 
the  satisfaction.  Make  the  most  of  it.  I  did 
go  down  to  the  bridge,  but  I  did  n't  wait  long. 
Ten  minutes  was  enough.  Do  you  suppose 
Maida  would  be  late  for  an  appointment  with 


224  The  Red  Lady 

me?  Not  if  she  was  living.  No,  my  girl,  I 
stood  there  and  realized  that  you  might  have 
worked  the  trick,  that  you  might  have  sent 
Maida  out  of  the  way,  might  have  decoyed  me, 
might,  even  at  that  instant,  be  on  the  track 
of  my  jewels.  God!  How  I  ran  back  to  the 
house !  When  I  found  the  kitchen  door  locked 
—  /  knew.  I  went  round  to  the  front  door 
and  rang  the  bell.  I  was  n't  going  to  lose  time 
snooping  around  for  unfastened  windows  — 
not  with  Dabney  in  the  house!  I  suppose  he 
was  sleeping  sound  because  he,  too,  thought 
you  were  safely  laid  by  the  heels.  Jaffrey  an- 
swered the  bell,  and  looked  surprised,  confound 
him!  I  gave  him  some  excuse,  and  went  like 
the  wind  up  to  your  room.  Sure  enough,  it  was 
empty.  I  waited  till  Jaffrey  had  got  back  to 
his  bed,  and  then  I  hurried  down  to  the  kitchen. 
You  know  the  rest.  You  know  it  all  now.  To 
the  end.  But  you  don't  quite  know  the  end." 


CHAPTER  XVLll 

THE  LAST  VICTIM 

1HAD  listened  to  all  this  as  though  to  voices 
in  a  fever.  I  had  been  trying  to  get  up  my 
courage  for  a  leap.  It  seemed  to  me  now  a  des- 
perate, hopeless  undertaking,  but  it  was  easier 
to  die  in  a  struggle  than  to  lie  there  in  cold 
blood  while  she  strangled  me  with  those  long, 
cold,  iron  hands.  She  was  not  calm.  I  could  see 
that  her  eyes  were  shifting,  her  arms  and  legs 
twitched,  her  fingers  moved  restlessly.  Black 
and  hard  as  her  lost  soul  must  be,  it  shrank  a 
little  from  this  killing.  The  murder  of  her  own 
child  gave  her  a  very  ague  of  dread.  It  was 
partly,  no  doubt,  the  desire  to  postpone  the 
hideous  act  that  had  kept  her  spinning  out  her 
tale  so  long.  But  the  end  had  come  now.  It 
was  —  I  knew  it  well  —  the  last  moment  of  my 
life.  I  looked  at  the  candle. 

At  the  same  instant  I  heard  a  window  open 
somewhere  in  the  house.  Thank  God!  It  was 
morning.  The  household  was  awake.  The  sound 
was  all  I  needed  to  fire  my  courage.  I  flung 
myself  bodily  upon  the  candle,  roUed  away. 


226  The  Red  Lady 

scrambled  to  my  feet,  and  fled  along  the  pas- 
sageway with  the  speed  of  my  despair.  She  was 
after  me  like  a  flash,  but  I  had  an  instant's 
start. 

Down  the  inclined  plane  I  slid.  I  leapt  along 
the  steps,  and  there  at  the  foot  she  fell  upon  me, 
and  we  lay  panting  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
the  closet  wall.  And  I  realized  that  our  flight 
had  been  no  more  noisy  than  the  scuttling  of 
rats.  I  gave  myself  up  to  death. 

Madame  took  me  up  in  her  arms  as  though 
I  had  been  a  little  child,  and,  soft-footed  as  a 
panther,  carried  me  back  to  the  side  of  the 
iron  box.  There  she  laid  me  down  and  bound 
my  ankles,  not  gently,  so  that  the  blood  flowed 
under  the  twine. 

Then,  with  steady  hands,  she  relighted  the 
candl^.  I  saw  her  face,  livid  with  rage  and  fear, 
pitiless,  glaring.  She  slid  her  hand  into  the 
pocket  of  her  dress,  that  gray  dress  which  she 
had  copied  from  mine.  Again  for  a  fantastic, 
icy  second  I  had  that  awful  feeling  that  she  was 
I,  that  I  was  she,  that  we  were  of  the  same 
spirit  and  flesh.  When  her  hand  came  out  it 
held  a  slender  knife,  fine  and  keen  and  delicate 
as  a  surgical  instrument.  With  her  other  hand 
she  sought  and  found  the  beating  of  my  heart. 


The  Red  Lady  227 

I  now  knew  the  manner  of  my  death.  I  shut  my 
eyes,  and  prayed  that  it  would  be  over  quickly. 

There  was  the  faintest  sound  above  my  head, 
and  I  opened  my  eyes.  Before  the  woman  saw 
my  deliverance,  I  saw  it.  A  beam  that  had 
made  part  of  the  sill,  that  crossed  the  passage- 
way above  us,  slid  quietly  from  its  place,  and 
into  the  opening  a  figure  swung  and  dropped. 

Before  even  it  could  reach  the  ground,  the 
woman  had  put  out  the  light  and  vanished  like 
a  ghost.  I  heard  not  so  much  as  the  rustle  of  her 
dress. 

The  fl^gure  from  above  landed  lightly  beside 
me,  and  flashed  on  an  electric  lantern.  It  was 
Paul  Dabney.  He  bent  over  me,  and  drew  a 
quick,  sharp  breath.  I  tried  to  cry  out,  "Fol- 
low the  woman!"  but  my  bound  lips  moved 
soundlessly. 

"I  have  caught  you,"  he  said  dully.  "It  is 
the  end." 

For  me  it  was  indeed  the  end,  a  far  more 
bitter  one  than  a  knife  in  my  heart.  I  should  be 
taken.  I  should  be  tried  for  my  life.  Half  a 
dozen  people  would  swear  that  I  was  Madame 
Treme.  Who  would  believe  my  incredible  story  .^ 
I  was  lost.  I  looked  up  at  Paul  Dabney  with 
complete  despair. 


£28  The  Red  Lady 

Footsteps  came  along  the  inclined  plane, 
but  Dabney  did  not  turn  around.  Evidently 
he  expected  them,  and  they  did  not  interest 
him.  He  was  shaking,  even  his  white  lips  were 
unsteady.  I  saw  his  hands  open  and  shut.  The 
light  of  the  electric  lantern,  and  the  light  that 
fell  through  the  trapdoor  which  he  had  so  mys- 
teriously opened  above  our  heads,  made  him 
ghastly  visible,  made  the  whole  passageway, 
with  its  rafters  and  its  red  bricks,  outlined 
with  plaster,  the  iron  box,  the  glimmer  of 
jewels,  plain  to  my  sight.  I  saw  two  men  com- 
ing towards  me.  Between  them,  by  her  arms, 
they  held  up  Madame  Treme. 

"We've  got  her,  sir!"  said  one  of  them 
triumphantly.  I  recognized  Mrs.  Brane's  out- 
doors men,  and  thought  confusedly  that  one  of 
these  was  Hovey,  the  detective. 

Paul  Dabney  looked  slowly  around.  He 
looked  and  raised  a  shaking  hand  to  his  eyes. 
He  turned  again  towards  me.  Then,  as  though 
a  current  of  life  had  been  flashed  through  his 
veins,  he  sprang  to  my  side,  untied  my  bonds, 
tore  off  the  silk  handkerchief  from  my  mouth. 
I  was  as  helpless  as  a  babe,  but  he  lifted  me 
tenderly,  and,  kneeling,  supported  me  in  his 
arms. 


The  Red  Lady  229 

"Janice,"  he  said  brokenly,  *' Janice,  what 
does  it  mean?" 

My  double  laughed.  "So  now,  Hovey,  you 
cat,  do  you  understand  what  a  fool  my  pretty 
daughter  and  I  have  made  of  you?  You  think 
yourself  very  clever,  no  doubt.  Your  reputation 
is  made,  is  n't  it?  Now  that  you  've  nabbed  the 
famous  Madame  of  the  red-gold  strand.  No, 
no,  my  friend,  not  quite  so  fast." 

She  moved  her  head  from  side  to  side,  strug- 
gling with  her  captors.  I  saw  her  bend  her  mouth 
to  her  shoulder,  bite  and  tear  at  her  dress.  We 
all  looked  at  her  in  a  ghastly  sort  of  silence. 
1  could  feel  Paul  Dabney's  quivering  muscles 
and  his  quick  breathing.  Then,  for  a  second,  I 
saw  a  white  pellet  on  the  woman's  tongue.  It 
must  have  been  sewed  into  the  seam  of  her 
dress  there  at  the  shoulder.  She  swallowed 
convulsively,  and  stood  still,  her  head  thrust 
forward,  staring  in  front  of  her  with  eyes  like 
stones. 

My  face  must  have  showed  itself  to  her 
through  the  mists  of  death,  for  she  spoke  once 
hoarsely:  "The  girl  is  quite  innocent,"  she 
said;  "she  wasn't  trying  for  the  jewels.  Do 
you  get  that,  Hovey?  Keep  your  claws  off 
her." 


230  The  Red  Lady 

Then  she  gave  a  great  shiver,  her  face  turned 
blue.  Her  head  dropped  forward,  her  legs  gave 
way,  and  the  two  men  held  a  dead  body  in 
their  arms. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SKANE'S  CLEVEREST  MAN 

WITH  the  death  of  Madame  Treme,  and 
the  arrest  of  Jaffrey  and  of  Maida,  the 
danger  to  ''The  Pines  "was  over.  It  was  a  long 
time,  however,  before  I  was  allowed  to  tell  my 
story.  I  lay  in  a  darkened  room,  waited  upon 
by  Mary,  and  the  least  somid  or  word  would 
send  me  into  a  paroxysm  of  hysterical  tears. 
The  first  person  to  whom  I  recounted  my  ad- 
ventures was  the  detective  Hovey,  a  certain 
gray-eyed  and  demure  young  man  whom  I  had 
long  known  by  another  name.  Our  interview 
was  very  formal.  I  called  him  Mr.  Hovey,  and 
met  his  cool  and  unembarrassed  look  as  rarely 
as  I  could.  I  was  propped  up  in  bed  to  make 
my  statement.  Dr.  Haverstock  was  present,  his 
hand  often  stealing  to  my  pulse,  and  Mary  stood 
near  with  a  stimulant.  She  had  made  me  as 
pretty  as  she  could,  the  dear  soul;  had  arranged 
my  hair,  and  chosen  my  dainty  dressing-gown, 
but  I  must  have  looked  like  a  ghost;  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  there  lay  a  brand  of  shame 
across  my  face. 


232  The  Red  Lady 

Mr.  Hovey  took  down  my  statement  and 
Dr.  Haverstock  witnessed  it.  I  was  told  that  I 
should  have  to  appear  in  court  at  the  trial  of 
Madame's  accomplices.  At  that,  I  shrank,  and 
looked  helplessly  at  Dr.  Haverstock,  and  my 
eyes,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  filled  with  tears. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor  kindly,  "it 
will  be  a  long  time  yet.  You  will  be  strong 
enough  to  face  anything." 

"There  are  some  things,"  I  murmured  shak- 
ily, "that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  face."  I 
covered  my  eyes  with  my  hands,  and  turned 
against  the  pillow. 

I  heard  Dr.  Haverstock  whisper  something, 
and  I  knew  that  Hovey  and  he  had  left  the 
room.  Paul  had  not  said  a  word  to  me  except 
the  necessary  questions.  His  face  had  been 
expressionless  and  pale.  What  else  could  I  ex- 
pect? How  could  any  man  act  otherwise  to 
the  daughter  of  the  famous  Madame  Treme? 

The  doctor,  Mary,  Mrs.  Brane,  were  all 
wonderfully  kind.  I  broke  down  again  under 
Mrs.  Brane's  kindness. 

"Oh,  Janice,  my  poor  child,"  she  said  to  me 
when  I  was  at  last  allowed  to  see  her,  "why 
did  n't  you  come  to  me?  Why  did  you  try  to 
bear  all  this  terror  and  misery  yourself?" 


The  Red  Lady  233 

I  held  her  hand.  "I  wish  I  had  come  to  you, 
dear  Mrs.  Brane.  I  wish  for  very  many  reasons 
that  I  had  had  the  humihty  and  good  sense 
to  do  so.  ^Yhat  now  is  there,  except  that 
statement  of  my  wretched  mother,  to  keep 
you,  the  whole  world,  every  one,  from  think- 
ing that  I  was  a  thief  myself.^  From  putting 
that  construction  upon  my  insane  behavior 
here.?" 

"Well,  Janice,"  she  said  indulgently,  "there 
is  one  person  to  prevent  it.  I,  for  one,  would 
never  have  the  courage  to  suggest  such  a  theory 
in  Paul  Hovey's  presence.  He  has  wTitten  up 
your  rescue  of  him  so  movingly,  and  told  the 
story  of  it  so  appealingly,  that  I  think  you 
are  rather  in  danger  of  being  a  sort  of  national 
heroine.  In  the  papers,  my  dear,  you  are 
painted  in  the  most  glowing  colors.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  there  would  be  a  movie  written 
about  you." 

Paul,"  I  said,  —  "Paul  has  told  it.?" 
Yes,  Paul.  And  I  think  he  owes  you  an 
amende.  In  fact,  we  ail  do.  I  engaged  a  de- 
tective the  day  after  Delia  and  Jane  and  Annie 
left,  and  very  well  I  knew,  of  course,  that  our 
young  student  visitor  was  Skane's  cleverest 
man.  But  I  did  not  guess  that  from  the  first 


(< 

a 


234  The  Red  Lady 

moment  he  suspected  you.  Poor  child!  Poor 
Janice!  What  misery  you  have  been  through 
all  by  your  brave,  desolate,  little  self!" 

'*From  the  first  moment!"  I  repeated 
blankly.  **From  the  first  moment  Paul  thought 
that  I  was  Madame  Treme.^" 

My  mind  ran  back  over  that  meeting  in  the 
bookroom.  I  remembered  his  sharp,  sudden 
speeches,  the  slight  edge  to  his  voice.  I  had 
thought  him  a  coward  with  that  hand  in  his 
pocket,  and  he,  meanwhile,  had  imagined  him- 
self always  under  the  eyes  of  the  Red-Gold 
Strand. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brane.  "One  of  the  force 
saw  you  get  off  the  train  at  Pine  Cone,  and  was 
struck  by  your  resemblance  to  the  famous 
criminal."  (I  remembered  the  man  whose 
scrutiny  had  so  annoyed  me.)  "He  reported 
at  headquarters  Madame's  possible  presence, 
and  they  realized  at  once  that  if  she  was  in  it, 
the  Pine  Cone  case  was  apt  to  be  both  dan- 
gerous and  interesting.  There  was  big  game 
somewhere.  So,  without  telling  me  how  seri- 
ous the  situation  might  be,  they  chose  Hovey, 
and  sent  him  down  here  as  a  student  of  Rus- 
sian literature.  They  knew  that  Madame  had 
never  come  in  contact  with  him.  Paul  Hovey 


The  Red  Lady  235 

has  rather  a  remarkable  history,  Janice.  Would 
you  care  to  hear  it?" 

I  bent  my  head. 

"He  began  life  as  a  young  man  with  great 
expectations,  and  a  super-excellent  social  po- 
sition. But  he  was  very  careless  in  his  choice 
of  companions.  It  was  the  love  of  adventure, 
I  suppose,  like  Harry  Hotspur  and  his  crew. 
At  a  house-party,  not  a  very  reputable  one  I 
am  afraid,  on  Long  Island,  —  this  was  a  good 
many  years  ago,  —  he  got  mixed  up  in  a  very 
tangled  web,  and  disentangled  himself  with 
such  cleverness  and  resource,  discovering  the 
guilty  man  before  the  police  had  even  sniffed 
a  trail,  that  Skane,  half  as  a  joke,  urged  him 
to  turn  detective.  Hovey,  too,  treated  it  as  a 
joke,  but,  not  long  after,  my  dear,  the  poor 
boy  got  himself  into  trouble  —  oh,  nothing 
wicked!  It  was  a  matter  of  holding  his  tongue 
and  keeping  other  people  safe,  or  telling  the 
truth  and  clearing  himself  of  rather  discredit- 
able folly.  He  held  his  tongue,  and  most  people 
believed  his  innocence.  I  think  every  one  would 
have  stood  by  him,  for  he  was  enormously 
popular,  if  the  very  people  from  whom  he  had 
the  best  right  to  expect  mercy  and  loyalty  had 
not  turned  against  him  —  his  uncle  who  had 


£36  The  Red  Lady 

brought  him  up,  and  the  girl  to  whom  he  was 
engaged.  He  was  disinherited  and  turned  out 
of  doors,  and  the  girl,  a  worldly  little  wretch, 
promptly  threw  him  over.  Hovey  went  straight 
to  Skane,  who  welcomed  him  like  a  long-lost 
child.  Since  then  Paul  Hovey  has  become  fam- 
ous in  his  chosen  line  of  work.  Now  you  know 
his  history.  I  learned  it  —  what  was  not  al- 
ready public  property  —  from  a  man,  a  friend 
of  Paul's  dead  father,  a  man  who  loves  Paul 
dearly,  and  has  known  him  all  his  life." 

I  was  not  sorry  —  selfish  as  the  feeling  was 
—  to  learn  that  Paul,  too,  had  a  grievance 
against  the  world;  that  he,  too,  was  something 
of  a  waif  and  stray,  another  bit  of  Fate's  flot- 
sam like  myself. 

"And  from  the  first  moment  he  thought  I 
was  Madame  Treme.^" 

''Yes  —  and  fell  in  love  with  you.  A  nice 
situation  for  a  detective,  was  n't  it.^^  Don't 
start !  You  know  he  did.  But  I  must  run  away 
before  I  tell  you  any  more  secrets.  I  must  leave 
Paul  Hovey  to  make  his  own  apologies,  to 
plead  his  own  cause.  I  am  tiring  you,  as  it  is. 
You  are  getting  much  too  pink." 

''I  will  never  give  Mr.  Hovey  a  chance  to 
make  his  apologies,"  I  said  sadly.  "And  I  am 


The  Red  Lady  237 

certain,  dear  Mrs.  Brane,  that  he  will  never 
try  for  the  chance.  Who  would  .^  Who  would 
want  to  —  to  love  the  daughter  of  —  " 

It  was  here  that  I  broke  down,  and  she  com- 
forted me.  "Janice,  darling,"  she  said  when  I 
was  a  little  quieter,  "  Love  is  a  very  mighty  god, 
and  though  they  say  he  is  blind,  I  believe  that 
he  sees  like  an  immortal.  If  Paul  Hovey  loved 
you  in  spite  of  his  best  will  and  judgment, 
against  every  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
loved  you  to  his  own  shame  and  anguish  when 
he  thought  you  a  woman  dyed  in  crime,  a 
woman  who  had  attempted  his  life,  do  you 
think  he  will  stop  loving  you  when  he  knows 
your  history  and  your  innocence  .f^" 

She  left  me  before  I  could  answer  iier  ques- 
tion, but  she  left  me  without  a  ray  of  hope.  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  never 
marry  any  one.  And  I  was  sure  with  the 
memory  of  Paul's  cold,  questioning  iooks  in 
our  recent  interview,  that  he  would  never  come 
to  me  again. 

But  he  did  come. 

We  met  in  the  sunny  bookroom  where  I  had 
first  led  him  so  long  —  it  seemed  very  long  — 
ago.  I  was  sitting  in  the  window  seat  trying 
listlessly  to  read,  and  listening  heartbrokenly 


238  The  Red  Lady 

to  the  gay  music  of  a  mocking-bird  in  the  tree 
outside,  when  his  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  and, 
while  I  stood,  half  risen  to  fly,  he  came  in 
quietly  and  stood  before  me  with  his  boyish 
and  disarming  smile. 

My  knees  gave  way,  and  I  dropped  back  into 
my  place,  the  book  falling  to  the  floor.  I  was 
trembling  all  over. 

"Don't  say  you  won't  let  me  talk  to  you, 
Janice,"  he  pleaded,  and  his  face  was  white 
with  earnestness.  ''Don't  try  to  run  away  from 
me.  You  must  in  all  fairness  hear  me  out." 

"There  is  nothing  for  me  to  listen  to,"  I 
stammered;  "I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you." 

"Perhaps  it  is  nothing  to  listen  to,"  he  said, 
"but  it  is  the  most  important  thing  to  me  in 
the  world.  It  means  my  life  —  that 's  all." 

"To  talk  to  me?" 

"Yes.  For  God's  sake,  let  us  play  no  tricks 
with  each  other  now.  There  has  been  too  much 
disguise  between  us.  I  mistook  you  for  a  wicked 
woman  —  yes  —  but  you  knew  that  I  mistook 
you,  you  knew  that  I  loved  you  better  than  my 
own  soul,  you  knew  that  I  suffered  damnably, 
and  you  did  not  undeceive  me.  I  kept  a  police- 
man's guard  upon  you  —  yes  —  I  let  you  find 
the  paper,  I  let  you  get  the  translation,  and. 


The  Red  Lady  239 

when  I  could  force  my  heart  to  give  in  to  my 
sense  of  duty,  I  tracked  you  down,  and  found 
you  with  the  treasure.  I  saw  your  double  go  out 
through  the  kitchen-garden  that  night,  and  I 
thought,  as  I  had  thought  from  the  beginning, 
that  she  was  you.  I  followed  her  to  the  bridge. 
I  followed  her  back  to  the  house.  I  let  her  go  into 
her  hiding-place,  and  I  set  two  men  to  watch 
that  entrance  while  I  went  out  to  make  sure  of 
Maida  and  Jaffrey.  Long  before  that  night  I 
had  discovered  the  other  opening  to  the  pas- 
sage —  the  opening  in  Robbie's  window  sill  - — 
and  had  fastened  it  up  so  that  none  of  the  gang 
should  light  upon  it.  When  I  came  back  at  my 
leisure,  thinking  to  find  my  quarry  in  the  hands 
of  my  two  men,  they  told  me  that  she  had  not 
come  out,  that  they  had  waited  according  to 
orders,  and  had  heard  a  long  murmur  of  voices 
in  the  wall.  Then  I  betook  myself  to  the  other 
opening,  and  dropped  on  you  from  above." 
Here,  all  at  once,  his  self-control  broke  down. 
He  came  and  took  my  hands,  drawing  them  up 
against  his  heart  so  that  I  rose  slowly  to  my 
feet  in  front  of  him.  '*Do  you  know  what  it  was 
like  to  me  to  feel  that  I  was  handing  you  over 
to  justice?  Even  then,  I  loved  you.  Even  then 
your  beauty  and  your  eyes  —  Oh,  Janice,  I 


240  The  Red  Lady 

can't  think  of  the  agony  of  it  all.  Don't  make 
me  go  over  it,  don't  make  me  explain  it  in  cold 
blood.  In  cold  blood?  There  is  n't  a  drop  of  cold 
blood  in  my  body  when  I  hold  your  hands !  Are 
you  going  to  forgive  me?  Are  you  going  to  let 
me  begin  again?  May  I  have  my  chance?" 

I  laughed  bitterly  enough.  "Your  chance  to 
win  the  daughter  of  Madame  Treme?" 

At  that  he  gripped  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
me  till  in  the  tumult  of  my  heart  I  could  not 
hear  the  music  of  the  mocking-bird. 

"My  heart  has  always  known  you  for  the 
lovely  and  holy  thing  you  are,"  he  told  me 
later;  "it  knew  you  in  spite  of  my  bewildered 
wits." 

"Did  it  know  me  that  night  in  the  arbor?" 
I  asked  him  shakily.  And  he  was  silent.  I  had 
to  forgive  him  because  he  made  no  attempt  to 
defend  himself.  He  sat  there,  miserable  and 
silent,  letting  my  hand  go,  till  I  gave  it  back  to 
him  of  my  own  free  will,  forgivingly. 

And  what  more  is  there  to  tell? 

Not  long  after  the  trial,  Mrs.  Brane  left 
*'The  Pines"  to  marry  Dr.  Haverstock,  who, 
to  my  great  surprise,  had  been  her  suitor  all 
these  months.  And  as  for  Mary,  she  is  living 


The  Red  Lady  241 

with  Paul  and  me,  and  is  the  happiest  of  faith- 
ful nurses  to  our  child.  Paul's  and  my  daughter 
is  a  little  fairy,  with  demure  gray  eyes,  and  the 
blackest  hair  that  I  have  ever  seen. 

And  the  treasure,  the  robe  and  crown  which 
so  bedazzled  the  weak  head  of  Theodore  Brane, 
and  which  drew  Madame  across  the  ocean  to 
her  death,  they  are  again  in  the  crypt  of  the 
cathedral  at  Moscow,  where  there  stands,  glit- 
tering once  more  between  her  golden  candle- 
sticks, our  Holy  and  Beloved  Lady  of  the 
Jewels. 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


^ 


/ 


